As Men Strive For Right
by purseplayer
Summary: In a world that allows no place for homosexuality, Blaine and Kurt are soulmates who were fortunate to find each other against the odds. But as they made their way to freedom in The Olde World something went wrong, and now Kurt finds himself safe in Blaine's home country - alone. What happened to Blaine, and can Kurt find a way to reunite them again? Sequel to My Soul Can Reach.
1. Chapter One: This House

**_A/N: _**Please revisit the last chapter of _My Soul Can Reach _if you would like a refresher as to what's going on. Thank you all for waiting so patiently for this story. It's about a third of the way written now, and I hope to update once a week.

The title for this chapter is from the haunting song _This House _by Alison Moyet. Thank you for reading and **please, review and let me know what you think!**

* * *

_"Blaine is missing."_

The words swept through Kurt like a slow, burning freeze, numbing him as they went and leaving him completely barren. It was the most terrifying feeling in the world.

"We're still looking, Kurt, we won't give up!" Tina tried to reassure him, sounding not a little desperate.

He looked up at her, registering the pity on her pretty face but unable to bring himself to care. "I'd like to be alone, please," he said with as much politeness as he could muster.

"Kurt…"

"Tina, let's give him some space," Mike said seriously, considering Kurt sadly and nodding, once, before placing a hand on the petite woman's back and guiding her towards the door.

"Your dad…"

"You can send him up when he gets here." Kurt stared down at his hands as they left, gazing blankly at the name that was permanently etched into his palm. He didn't look up until long after the door had clicked shut.

* * *

Kurt hadn't moved much fifteen minutes later and didn't notice someone entering the room, but felt the gentle hand touching his shoulder and looked up to find Burt standing at his bedside.

"Dad!" he exclaimed, sitting up abruptly to launch into his father's arms.

"Kurt," his father clutched him tightly. "You had us so worried!"

"Us?"

"Me, Carole, Finn… all of Blaine's friends…"

Kurt tensed at the mention of Blaine, but shook it off. "Who are Carole and Finn?"

It was only then that Kurt noticed they were not alone. A woman stood in the doorway. She looked to be about his father's age, maybe a few years younger, with shoulder-length auburn hair and a concerned expression on her face.

"Carole," his father said, gesturing to her.

She stepped forward and stopped at Burt's side. "Hey, Honey," she said, smiling down at him sadly.

"She's a nurse, can she take a look at you?" his dad wanted to know.

Kurt nodded, eyes locked on his father's as the woman—Carole—set about poking and prodding him, checking his pulse. "Why do I get the feeling there's more to this than you're telling me?" he asked after a moment.

Carole and Burt exchanged a look that only served to confuse Kurt further before Burt finally spoke. "With all that's happened… maybe it's not the best time, Kurt. You—_we_ should focus on finding Blaine."

"Dad," Kurt said stubbornly, his eyes narrowing slightly at the older man.

But to both their surprise, it was Carole who caved.

"Honey," she started, resting a hand gently on his arm to get his attention. "Your father and I, well… we've bonded."

Whatever Kurt had been expecting to hear, it was certainly not _that_.

"But… mom was your soulmate!"

"Yes, she was," Burt said patiently. "So is Carole."

"I was a no name," Carole broke in, no hint of shame in her voice. "I've had your father's name for years, now, but we only just found each other. I guess you could say it was you that brought us together, sweetie." She patted Kurt's arm, a hopeful smile on her face. Kurt resisted the instinct to pull away.

"I know this is sudden, Kurt, but as they say here… you can't fight the Source. I will always love your mother, but I love Carole, too. She's made me very happy these past few days."

Kurt merely nodded, unable to summon the emotional energy to fully process the situation. "Congratulations," he managed weakly. "I'm sorry, it's not you Carole… I just can't…"

"That's alright," Carole said, tears shining in her eyes. "I understand."

And Kurt knew that she did.

"Finn…" Kurt began, suddenly remembering the other name his father had mentioned.

"Is my son," Carole supplied. "He'd very much like to meet you, when you feel up to it. And…" she paused, looking to Burt, "we'd like to help. In any way we can."

Kurt almost smiled. Given an appropriate amount of time and better circumstances, he thought he might come to like Carole very much, indeed.

* * *

Carole left shortly after that, but Burt stayed behind with Kurt as his son curled up into a fetal position on the bed, clutching at his father's hand as though it were a lifeline. Maybe right now it was.

"You can cry if you need to, Kurt," Burt told him softly after what seemed like hours of morose silence.

"I can't."

Burt sighed, shuffling closer in his chair to smooth back the hair from his son's face. "You should eat something. We've kept you hydrated but it's been three days."

"Tomorrow," Kurt said hoarsely, barely responding to his father's touch. "I just want to sleep." _I just want Blaine._

"They're going to find him," Burt swore with forced bravado. "We're going to find him, I promise you Kurt." He tried to stand, intending to pull the blankets over his shaking son, though both men knew he wasn't shivering from the cold.

But Kurt tightened his hand to a vice grip, refusing to let Burt go. "Please stay," he pleaded weakly. _Please don't leave me too._

"Of course," Burt said, squeezing back and situating himself more comfortably in his chair.

It took a long time for Kurt's face to relax, for his breathing to settle, for Burt to be certain that he was finally asleep. And still he remained… until his sleeping son's whimpers and soft cries of "Blaine" became too much for a father to bear.

* * *

A knock at his door woke Kurt the next morning, and Mike didn't wait for an answer before entering the tiny room, a neatly arranged breakfast tray in his hands.

"Breakfast, from Tina," he said, sitting it down beside Kurt on the bed even though Kurt himself still had yet to move or acknowledge his presence. Mike took the chair, unfazed by his lack of response. "You need to eat," he said in a tone that booked no argument. "And we need to talk."

Kurt blinked, frowned but nodded, and sat up a little begrudgingly, reaching for the tray. He would be of no use to Blaine dead. "Thank you," he said quietly, picking at some bacon. "Any news on Blaine? I'm feeling better today, so I should be able to help…"

"No, but that's kind of what I wanted to talk to you about," Mike cut him off. "I don't know what's happened to Blaine, we're still working on that. But I have my theories. You probably aren't going to like them."

Kurt's eyes fell closed as if to shut Mike out, but it was only a moment before he took a deep breath, sat a little straighter, and opened them to stare directly into Mike's. "I'm listening."

"You probably already know about why Blaine was in The New World, and his brother's involvement in him getting caught?"

"I know enough."

"Right…" he looked like he wanted to say more but was reconsidering, and when he continued the subject change caught Kurt off guard. "So I'm assuming Blaine told you a little about the barrier, how it works to keep us safe?"

"Of course."

"Well, did you consider that maybe Blaine wasn't able to get through the barrier?"

Kurt's brow furrowed and his eyes darkened, anger welling up within him before he could stop it. "Are you suggesting that Blaine had some sort of devious intent in bringing us here? He would never keep something like that from me, he would never be capable of something so hateful, Blaine is the kindest…"

"Woah!" Mike held up a hand to stop him. "I know that Blaine would never do anything to hurt you, we were best friends. You don't need to convince me that he's a good person. But that being said—and I mean no disrespect—you have no idea what Blaine is capable of."

Kurt studied him for a moment, lips pressed tight to bite back a further stream of anger. As much as it stung, he knew on some level that Mike was right. "What did you mean then?" he asked finally, tone clipped but restrained.

Mike sighed, breaking eye contact for the first time to study his own hands. "I would imagine, knowing what I know of Blaine, that he is feeling very angry and conflicted towards Cooper. Probably far angrier than he's admitted even to himself."

"Angry enough, on some level, to want to hurt him," Kurt finished.

"I'm not saying that Blaine is prone to violence…"

"It's ok. I don't want to think that, but you're right. You've known him a lot longer than I have." Kurt shrugged, looking a little defeated.

"Hey, I may not have seen you two together, but I don't have to to know that you mean more to Blaine than anything in the world. He loved you long before he knew you. Which is why it pains me to mention my other theory for Blaine's absence…"

Kurt smiled at him weakly. "Shoot."

"Well… I think it's possible that Blaine never intended to come across the barrier with you to begin with."

Kurt gasped. "You think he lied to me?"

"I think _that it's possible _that your safety meant more to him than honesty. And I know that Blaine was very dedicated to our mission. He may have had some unfinished business…"

"I can't believe that," Kurt cut him off. "But regardless, that doesn't really tell me what I want to know the most. Where is Blaine now?"

"Well, if he stayed behind intentionally he could be anywhere in The New World right now… but it would mean that he's probably safe."

_Small comfort_, Kurt thought. But then, small comforts were all he had.

"If he didn't stay back on purpose, and the barrier kept him out… well, he'd have been knocked unconscious, just like you. It took over a day for us to get over there to search and we didn't find him anywhere, which means…" he paused, looking pained. "I'm sorry Kurt, but if that's the case, the authorities over there probably caught him. They would have gotten to him before we could."

Kurt forced back the dread that was slowly consuming his body, forced out the words. "What would they do to him?"

Mike reached out to take his hand, and Kurt didn't even try to pull away. "They don't take kindly to second offenses, Kurt. What he did was bad, but running away… there's more than one reason there aren't a lot of violent crimes in the world. People don't usually start with violent crimes and… the government doesn't usually let it get that far."

"No," was all Kurt could say, shaking his head and yanking his hand away. "I won't… I can't believe that."

"Then don't believe it. Fight back with the rest of us. The resistance has been moving towards taking a better stand against the prejudice and hatred in The New World for a long time, and we all think this is the perfect opportunity. With your blessing, we'd like to send the cavalry in to look for Blaine… and when we find him, to take a stand once and for all."

"You don't need my blessing," Kurt said, a bit of old fire creeping into his voice. "I'm going with you. But there's something I want to do first. I want to talk to Cooper."

"Of course," Mike said, his face darkening a little at the mention of the man. "You're still a little weak, but build up your strength today and I'll take you tomorrow, first thing. It will take us that long to prepare, at any rate."

He stood, and turned to go.

"Mike…" Kurt called out to him, and he paused in the doorway. "Thank you. For everything."

Mike smiled. "Rest up now."

Kurt sat back, gathering his strength for a moment before turning back to his breakfast, forcing himself to take a real bite. It was too early to feel hope, too much right now to feel anything but the bleakness of the lack of Blaine's presence, the emptiness in this place that was his and the wrongness of being here alone. But tomorrow was a new day and if there was nothing more he could expect from it, it at least held the promise of purpose. Kurt Hummel had never been one to back down from a challenge.


	2. Chapter Two: To Where You Are

**_A/N:_**I know that many of you were worried about Blaine and eager for some answers. Here you go!

**_Special Chapter Warnings: _**Homophobic slurs abound

* * *

**_Chapter Two: To Where You Are_**

The first thing that registered when the fog in his mind finally began to lift was pain. His head ached dully, but the worst pain was in his left leg, sharp like he was being stabbed with a knife. He struggled to open his eyes.

The surface mere feet above his head was grey and looked soft. It was familiar, somehow, though he was sure that he hadn't seen this one in particular before. He frowned to himself, thinking hard even though thinking _hurt_. He wanted to touch it but realized with a start that his arms were bound together. Great.

It took his mind a few moments, but eventually he was able to orient himself. He was in a car, lying flat on his back in what must be the back seat. Gathering his strength, he tried to sit up, abruptly falling back with a loud groan.

"Hey Henry!" he heard a voice exclaim from the front seat. "Looks like he's finally waking up!"

"Bout time. They're usually not out this long. Then again, I've not seen too many who haven't gotten through before."

_Gotten through__**… **_Blaine pondered this and after a while it all came back to him. Traveling with Kurt and Burt, crossing the barrier. Had he not made it across? Had Kurt not made it?

"Kurt…" he tried, hating the weakness of his own voice when he heard it.

He turned his head and saw a man peering back at him from between the seats, but the face was neither familiar nor kind.

"Who's that, your boyfriend?" the man taunted him. "I went to school with that kid, always did suspect he was a twink." He inclined his head towards Blaine's hand, drawing Blaine's attention to the fact that it was, indeed, naked. They must have removed the glove that covered Kurt's name.

Blaine felt the anger welling up inside of him at the man's gall, but forced it down. He couldn't do anything to defend himself in his present situation, anyways, and right now he needed information.

"Where is he," he all but growled out.

The man laughed. "Don't know, don't care. Maybe he got lucky and was able to cross. We only found you, and you'd been out for at least a day when we did, from the looks of it. Maybe someone else picked him up, or maybe he up and left you."

_Kurt would never leave me_, Blaine thought. He must have crossed then, and he was safe. But why didn't Blaine himself make it? He had an idea, but it would do no good to dwell on it now.

"Where are you taking me?"

"Where all homos go," the man said casually, still sneering at him. "To see Satan!"

"Gees, lay off the kid, would you David? Whether he's _that kind_ or not, he's about to suffer enough!"

And although Blaine was slightly reassured by the fact that at least the other man (Henry?) didn't seem to have it out for him, "suffer" did not sound promising at all.

"I only speak the truth," David defended himself. "We may have orders to bring him in alive, but I've known her for years, and I know what Santana does to her prisoners." He turned back to Blaine. "You better be of use to her, faggot, or you won't be alive very long!"

Blaine closed his eyes, not wanting to look at this "David" or even worse, allow him to read the fear in Blaine's eyes. "How far?"

"We're about an hour out," Henry answered.

"Better enjoy the comfort while it lasts," David added.

Blaine shut them out, in his mind conjuring an image of Kurt—hopefully safe now in The Olde World—and willed himself to sleep.

* * *

A loud bang startled him awake the second time, but he had little time to react before he was yanked forcefully from the car. He stumbled, without meaning to leaning against the man (David, his mind supplied) who currently had his arms in a vice grip. Blaine looked around, startled by the sight that greeted him. They had pulled into a cobblestone driveway framed by well-tended greenery; in front of him was a great stone house. If Blaine didn't know better, he'd be tempted to call it a castle—massive structures he remembered from an old textbook he'd read at Dalton.

Unsurprisingly, he wasn't given much time to stare before he was jerked along, the guard mindless of his injured leg. Blaine couldn't decide what was worse: putting weight on it or letting David support him. Ultimately, the guard's speed didn't leave him much choice.

They bypassed the front door, instead moving around the side of the building to a smaller entrance that was nearly concealed. David pushed through it easily, throwing Blaine to the floor unceremoniously the moment they were inside. Blaine couldn't control his groan of pain, noticing at once that this entire room was stone too, and the press of the floor unforgiving.

Henry came in behind them and shot Blaine a look that was almost pitying, but said nothing.

"You'll wait here," David ordered, already moving through to a second door on the opposite side of the large room. "I wouldn't try anything."

As if he could.

The wait was long enough for Blaine to get lost in his thoughts, but not nearly as long as he expected it to be. He tried his best to sit up straighter when someone barged into the room, tried to clear his mind of images of Kurt and blink away the tears he hadn't been able to stop.

But to his surprise, it was a woman, dressed casually and carrying a small first aid kit. She knelt beside him, considering him with sympathy.

"My name's Terri," she said, the brightness of her voice startling him a little. "I came to see if you're hurt."

Blaine scoffed. "What do they care? I was told I'm to be tortured."

"It is possible," Terri conceded, opening the kit before moving to check his injuries. Blaine flinched away, but she was persistent. "Ms. Lopez likes her prisoners at their best when she meets them, either way."

"How kind of her."

Terri seemed unfazed by his sarcasm and met his eyes. "She isn't often kind, and she can often be cruel, but she's also unpredictable. It's hard to say what she'll do with you, but it might help if you tell me why you're here."

Blaine relaxed a little, starting to get a read on this woman. She was clearly a gossip, and that could prove useful. "I broke out of prison, tried to escape through the barrier." He paused, considering, then added, "with my soulmate and his father."

It was almost comical, the way Terri's eyes widened and her surprised gasp. But she recovered quickly. "I've never met someone like you. At least, not someone who's not been rehabilitated. Is that what you were in jail for?"

"There is that, but my main offense was treason. I guess now that I've run, I'm a second offender."

"Oh," for whatever reason, Terri seemed less interested in this. But she leaned closer to him, almost conspiratorially. "Santana's been rehabilitated, you know. I've heard that's why she's such a good leader."

_A good thing to know_, Blaine thought, but he had no idea what to do with it.

Noting his lack of response, Terri continued. "I wouldn't expect that to make her more sympathetic to you, though. There," Terri stood, having finished patching up some of his more minor injuries. "I think your leg might be broken, though not badly. I'm not a doctor."

"Will someone be in soon?"

Terri shrugged. "Santana does what she wants, I don't know about anyone else." She studied him for a long moment. "She doesn't usually decide about people the first night, so that's one more night for you. You'll probably be moved to a cell. Try to find a way to be useful to her."

"Thank you, but I have no desire to sell myself out to a bigoted, New-World-governmental lacky." He held his chin high, meeting her gaze.

She smiled at him sadly, but it soon faded. "You might if it means seeing your man again someday."

Blaine watched as she quietly left the room, her words playing on inside his head.

Terri was right: Blaine wasn't a quitter. Blaine Anderson was Kurt Hummel's soulmate, and Kurt was worth fighting for.

He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, willing the cold, hard stone surrounding him to fade into the comforting warmth of his lover's embrace.

"I swear, Kurt, I'll find a way back to you," he whispered into the darkness, hoping that somehow, wherever he was, his soulmate knew that Blaine would never give him up.

* * *

When Blaine woke this time it was to the sharp sound of a woman's voice and the grating click of her heals.

"Well, well well… and how is my newest captive? Eagerly anticipating my visit, I'm sure."

Blaine opened his eyes slowly, already knowing whose image would greet him. This could only be Santana.

The woman standing in front of him wasn't terribly tall. She was beautiful, her figure the common man's bedroom fantasy—Blaine could tell that even as a gay man, especially considering her outfit did little to hide it. Her grin was lecherous, a fitting match for the maniacal glint in her dark eyes. Shiny black hair fell in waves down her back. Blaine didn't have to guess why her nickname was Satan. She looked the textbook definition of evil.

And now she was looming closer, reaching out to take a stray curl between her fingers. Blaine's first instinct was to swat her hand away, but no, his arms were still bound.

"You certainly are a pretty one," Santana was saying. "Want to tell me your story?"

Blaine cleared his throat, hoping to find his voice. "I'm sorry," he finally spoke with as much coldness as he could muster, fixing her with an icy glare. "I'm not accustomed to sharing show and tell with strangers."

Her face darkened at this, but quickly recovered, returning to what was clearly her trademark smirk.

"No need to stay strangers, sweetie. My name's Santana. Yours is Blaine. See, we already know each other!"

Blaine winced at the sound of his name from her lips. "I'll make you a deal. You explain to me—in full—who you are, why I'm here, and what you plan to do with me… and I _might_ decide to talk."

Santana scoffed. "Surely you know you're in no place right now to be bargaining. But I like your spunk, so I might be willing to throw you a _bone_," she chuckled at this last word, clearly enjoying her own attempt at a joke. At least it gave Blaine some idea of how much she already knew about him. "My full name is Santana Lopez, and I'm the Head of Security in this country. You're here because you were stupid enough to commit treason and then had the impudence to think we'd let you run away. As to what will happen to you here… well, that's pretty open-ended at the moment."

Blaine met her eyes. "And what do you want to know?"

Santana's smile widened. "You were in prison under Sue Sylvester, right? She's a good one, Sue—my mentor, in fact—but what she really loves is to win, which means she won't even try if she thinks a case is too difficult, a patient too stubborn. You and your brother, Cooper is it?"

She paused, watching Blaine's face tense. He fought to keep his expression blank, but wasn't quick enough.

"Hit a nerve there, did I? Look, I know why you got arrested. Big brother sold you out to save his own ass, didn't he? Betraying you and your cause. I've heard about your little Olde World rebel group, willing to risk so many years of peace and safety over there to screw our system over here. What I fail to understand is _why_? If you're all so safe and happy over there, then what reason is there behind this almighty, holy-roller mission?"

Blaine met her eyes, projecting his own determination as much as he could. He remained silent while Santana stared him down, waiting.

"You know I've got enough on you to kill you for, if you don't make it worth my while to keep you alive. Not that someone in my position really needs any reason at all. Lord knows it wouldn't hurt the world any to take out one more buttboy with a hideous fro, as little risk as you are to the gene pool. So tell me, what are you and your merry band of cronies planning?"

Blaine smiled crookedly—an equal match for hers, he thought to himself—and leaned forward, internally praying he had calculated this right. "Why don't you tell me, _Santana_, exactly what it is that made you so bitter? Surely your sacred government didn't screw with your head? Did mommy and daddy not love you enough to spare you?"

It was slight, but Blaine's eyes gleamed with satisfaction when he saw her own darken—the barest hint of anger, boiling close to the surface. Just as quickly, she slammed the lid.

"The only thing this _government_ ever did for me was grant me the power of life and death over pathetic, whimpering little homos like you." Her grin returned, more conniving than ever. "Mommy and daddy couldn't be more proud."

In an instant, Santana had spun around to face David, who was lurking in the corner of the room watching with ill-concealed interest. Blaine hadn't even noticed him. "He's useless," she stated dead-pan. "Go ahead and take care of him."

Blaine's stomach twisted sickly as David's eyes lit up and he advanced slowly, almost like he was stalking prey. But this wasn't the wild and Blaine was bound and broken; he would get no chance to run away. He closed his eyes, trying to picture Kurt's face, his beautiful body on the one night they had spent together. He raised his hands—still bound—instinctively to cover his face…

"Wait!" Santana's voice barely registered in his mind. He opened his eyes, lowering his arms and considering her with the barest hint of hope. His eyes flickered to David, pleased to see that the man looked royally pissed.

"I've changed my mind, this one's too pretty to kill." She came closer again and seemed to be examining him, looking over his hands and then his face. Blaine tried not to flinch away, knowing this might be his salvation and, eventually, his way back to Kurt.

Santana's eyes met his, and Blaine was perplexed by what he saw in them—something entirely different than the cold but amused disdain they had contained throughout most of their encounter. But whatever had changed, it was impossible to read.

She backed off, addressing a second man in the room. "Sandy, set him up with a room in the West Wing. Get him some food and a doctor. I want him ready for me by tonight."

The man, who was dressed more strangely than anybody Blaine had ever encountered, nodded. "Yes mistress," he said with too much complacency, shooting Blaine a glance that could only be described as _creepy_.

His attention focused on Sandy leaving the room, Blaine startled when Santana sat in his lap, facing him in a straddle, and leaned close to his ear. "Try to escape and I will cut you, no matter who your soulmate is."

With those words she was gone, moving away from him just as quickly as she had come and leaving Blaine more confused—and more hopeful—than ever.

* * *

_**A/N:** _ Title of this chapter is from the song "To Where You Are" by Josh Groban. Thank you for your time, dear readers, and please do let me know what you think!


	3. Chapter Three: The Promise

**_AN: _**The title of this chapter is from Tracy Chapman's "The Promise."

In this chapter we finally meet Cooper and hear his story. Pieces of the conversation between him and Kurt were the first thing I ever wrote for this story, way back when I was still in the middle of writing "My Soul Can Reach." I hope you guys aren't disappointed.

Also, I still feel that the conversation between Mike and Kurt in the car is a little awkward. Sorry, I couldn't quite get that right :-(

**Please, please, please** **review.** I hate to beg, but this story is my baby and I want to take good care of it. For some reason it's not getting quite the level of attention that "My Soul Can Reach" did and I'm not sure why... if there's something you don't like, something I might be able to fix, please let me know!

As always, thank you to those who do read and review this - you keep me going when the going gets tough, and words cannot express my appreciation 3

* * *

**_Chapter Three: The Promise_**

Kurt spent much of the rest of the day mercifully alone, save for another visit from his father. He slept a lot and ate every bite of every meal, wanting to be at full strength as soon as possible. He'd need it to confront Cooper and to prepare himself to join the resistance.

After having some time to think on it, he found it rather odd that they had been content to leave Blaine in prison the first time, but now seemed concerned enough to rally their troops to go after him. What about the situation, from their perspective, had changed? Surely it wasn't merely Kurt himself—that Blaine now had a soulmate, someone to make his life _matter_. That Kurt's life, too, now mattered in a way it never had before. He mentally added this to his list of things to ask Mike about.

But when the other man appeared to fetch him the next day, he seemed oddly tense, and Kurt decided to save those questions for later. They walked the short distance to Mike's car in near silence, save his brief inquiry as to how Kurt was feeling.

Eventually, though, Kurt's anxiety became too much to bear and he gave in to his curiosity.

"How far is it, to Cooper's place?"

Mike's hands tightened around the wheel. "It's on the edge of town, but not too far. Maybe half an hour. He used to live closer, before…"

"Before?"

"Before he betrayed Blaine. As you can imagine, we were all rather _disgusted_ by what he'd done," he all but spit the word out. "Needless to say, we no longer keep in touch."

"What's his story?" Kurt had been wondering this for a while, but it seemed such an upsetting topic he'd not pushed Blaine much on it.

Mike shook his head. "You'll have to ask him that. None of us were feeling quite safe enough to really hear him out, after his initial confession that he'd let Blaine go to jail." He paused for a moment, then "he has a soulmate… Molli, I think her name is. She teaches at the primary school with Tina. Nice enough woman. From what Tina tells me they're friendly, but she's never tried to mention Cooper. It's a bit of a mystery."

"Well," Kurt said, straitening up in the passenger's seat, chin lifting a little in determination. "He's going to explain himself to me. I think I deserve the full story."

Mike didn't answer, and their silence resumed for the remainder of the ride.

After a short time, Mike pulled up in front of a small but neat looking brick house. It appeared almost too homey to belong to the man Kurt was going to see, with a loopy, cheerful "Welcome" sign posted on the front door and baskets of wildflowers hanging from the roof of the tiny porch and sitting in the windows. _Must be Molli's influence_, Kurt thought to himself, more curious now than ever about the people he was about to meet. He didn't hesitate, pushing open his door the moment the car stopped and climbing up the little set of stone stairs, Mike trailing more hesitantly behind him.

There was no doorbell, in its place a more old-fashioned knocker, and Kurt reached for it immediately before pausing, looking back at Mike.

"It's the middle of the day, are you sure they'll be home?"

Mike gestured towards the car parked in front of his and shrugged. "It's Saturday, they should be."

Kurt nodded and, turning back to the knocker, slammed it neatly three times.

After a short wait the door swung open to reveal a pretty woman with dark hair and bright green eyes, who offered him, and then Mike, a curious smile. "Yes? How can I help you?"

Kurt swallowed thickly, briefly glancing towards Mike for guidance. It didn't appear he would be getting any. "Hello, umm… my name is Kurt Hummel. I was hoping to speak with Cooper Anderson?"

The woman frowned as if confused by something, turning back into the house. "Coop!" she called out. Almost immediately a handsome man appeared, flashing her a dazzling smile and kissing her briefly before turning his attention to their guests. "Mike," his face fell when he saw the Asian man. "What…?"

"Dear, this is Kurt Hummel," Molli told him softly, and Cooper's blue eyes landed on his, his mouth opening in an actual "O" of surprise for before falling again.

"Kurt," he breathed, stepping forward and then stopping himself. "I don't understand…"

"Neither do I," Kurt said a little coldly, finally finding his voice. "But I'd like to."

"Of course," Cooper said, briefly bowing his head before looking back up at him. "Please, come in. Molli," he said, turning to his mate. "Could you please fix some tea?" He glanced back to Kurt, "or would you prefer coffee?"

"Tea is fine."

Molli nodded and left, trailing a comforting hand along Cooper's arm as she did so.

"Right," Cooper considered Kurt again. "Follow me."

Kurt moved to do so, then paused and turned back to Mike.

"I'll wait in the car," the taller man said stiffly.

Kurt nodded and followed reluctantly after Cooper, soon finding himself seated on a couch in a cozy living room.

"So, what would you like to know first?" Cooper asked, settling himself into an armchair to the right of Kurt.

Kurt's head buzzed with a million and one questions, but they all boiled down to one. He glanced around the room for a moment without really seeing it before finally turning to the man beside him, the man who looked nothing at all like Blaine but had apparently broken his heart and left him to rot.

When he met Cooper's eyes, he could feel his own projecting every bit of his resentment. "I just want to know why."

"Blaine and I… I don't know how much he told you, Kurt, but what we did was dangerous. We were given tips from anonymous sources to check out certain people that might be sympathetic, and our job was to approach them and feel out where they stood. Delicate work, pushing little by little, until you either won yourself an ally or you got the hell out of there as fast as you could.

"We'd received a tip-off about the Smiths—Miranda and Thomas—and so we went to their house one night. I don't remember what our cover story was, but they let us in, no problem. Things were going well, or so we thought. We had just decided to go in for the kill, reveal ourselves, our real names and… why we were there."

Cooper stopped as Molli entered the room, placing a steaming cup of tea in front of Kurt with a gentle smile and handing one to Cooper, kissing his cheek before leaving the room.

Both men took a long sip, and Cooper continued. "As soon as the words left our mouths, it all went to hell. It was a trap, you see, and I don't know how but they had people on us, just like that. We were nearly to the door when there she was." Cooper paused, closing his eyes as if lost in the memory. "She was so beautiful, standing on the stairs looking frantic. Screaming out my name—screaming out hers. I hesitated just a moment too long, and they got us.

"You have to understand the position I was in, Kurt, and how difficult it was. Now that I had found her, I couldn't leave her there for years with such terrible people. I knew her parents wouldn't react well to learning who I was."

"So you sold out your own brother," Kurt's voice was cold and bitter, unforgiving.

Cooper winced. "I still regret it every day, wonder if there was a better way… but it was the only way I could think of at the time. So I fed them some story—a watered-down version of the truth—and led them to believe that Blaine was the one in charge. I knew that he wouldn't give anything away; he's too good for that. It worked. They let me go. I went back to the Smith's house the next day, snuck in and got Molli, and we got out, came back here. Blaine went to prison."

"And you just left him there?" Kurt demanded. "You never tried to go back and get him out?"

Cooper hung his head. "It was too dangerous. I'm brave enough to risk myself, but I couldn't risk her."

"He doesn't even know why you did it," Kurt said incredulously, struggling to stay calm.

"No," Cooper answered honestly. He looked up, met Kurt's eyes. "He'd have done the same for you."

Kurt broke the gaze in favor of studying his own hands, uncertain as to what to say next.

"So…" Cooper started, sounding more hesitant than he had yet. "I know I have no right to ask, but about Blaine… you speak as if you've met. Why didn't he come here himself?"

Kurt sighed, forcing himself to look up again, resolutely setting his face. "I suppose I can tell you the full story, since you can't really hurt him now—" Cooper winced again, and Kurt couldn't even bring himself to be ashamed at the tingle of satisfaction he got from the older man's reaction to his barb—"Blaine and I met when I took a job at the prison he was in. We managed to carry on a relationship in secret, and as soon as we could arrange it he ran. We were going to come here together, but…" he trailed off as he felt the tears beginning to build in his eyes and furiously tried to blink them away. "He didn't make it across. That's all we know."

Cooper gasped and reached out as if to touch him, concern evident on his face, but seemed to think better of it and sat back. "I'm so sorry, Kurt."

Kurt scoffed. "I can't see why you would be. At least this time it isn't your fault."

"No," Cooper shook his head, this time showing no visible reaction to Kurt's insinuation. "But it is more dangerous for him, surely they've told you that?"

Kurt shuddered at the reminder, but nodded.

"So I guess the real question is… what are we going to do about it?"

"We?" Kurt was legitimately taken aback.

It was Cooper's turn to sigh, though in the back of Kurt's mind he noted that he did so a little over-dramatically. "If you'll let me, Kurt, I want to help. I've spent so long hating myself for what I did. I can't… no, I _won't _let him down again."

This time when their eyes met, Kurt took the opportunity to study the other man's—digging within them for what, he wasn't sure.

After a long while he nodded once before looking away. The resistance was going to need all the help they could get, and Cooper was already trained. As for forgiveness—well, that would be Blaine's to leave or to give.

* * *

After Kurt finished with Cooper, Mike took him on a tour of Dalton school, where a meeting was later being held for the resistance to plan their big move. Kurt was nervous at the prospect of meeting so many new people, but Mike informed him that they weren't as large of a group as Kurt had anticipated—only fifty or so members, and only thirty of those would be leaving on the mission. The school also served as an excellent distraction from Kurt's growing anxiety. It was grand in that glamorous sort of way that hinted of eras passed. Unfortunately, his mind constantly conjured up images of Blaine, smiling and laughing and learning with friends throughout the beautiful halls, and it only served to deepen his sadness.

Just before the meeting, Kurt remembered his earlier question for Mike. To his surprise, the taller man looked a little sheepish when asked why, exactly, going after Blaine was so important this time when they'd never bothered before.

"Well, to be honest, it's really more of the excuse that we've been looking for to make our move. Elections are coming up, and we've got a few candidates that are leaning towards our side, but none of them are very powerful. What we really need is a big gun, so to speak—a shoe-in that the people already love who's willing to back our cause. There are a couple of people we're working on, so if we can convince one of them, that's for the best. But regardless of how solid we are politically, many of the people aren't going to like what our candidates have to say. None of us want to see it come to violence, Kurt, but if it comes to that we're prepared to make a stand. This practice of rehabilitation, this prejudice… it's simply gone on too long."

Kurt was impressed—and surprised—with how sincere Mike was, how passionate he seemed to be about the cause. But then again, he didn't know Mike well, but being a member of the resistance in and of itself should have said a lot about his character. He was seeing more and more that being a part of this group was no small sacrifice.

Mike sighed, then continued. "But also, Kurt, a lot of us here really care about Blaine. We were his friends, and he was one of our best men. It was one thing to know that he was safe in prison, however unpleasant that circumstance may be. But wherever he is now, whatever's going on - well, the unknown is not a good thing."

Kurt nodded, accepting this for what it was.

"Blaine and I were roommates in college, and when Cooper talked him into joining, I went too. Did he tell you that?" Mike looked a wistful and a bit uncomfortable, as if this was more than he had been planning to say but he couldn't stop himself.

Not wanting to discourage Mike from sharing more, Kurt quietly shook his head in response.

"He was my best friend there, and he and Tina got pretty close, too. He was my best man at our bonding ceremony. When the two of us dropped out of school to join, he lived with us for a a few months, until he and Cooper got situated."

Mike fell silent, and Kurt continued to watch him expectantly.

"I'm sorry," he said finally, "I don't know where I'm going with this. I'm not very good with words, but I guess I just want you to know that Blaine means something to us here, Kurt. Especially to me. We won't let him go without a fight."

Kurt reached out a little tentatively to squeeze the taller man's shoulder. "Thank you," he said sincerely, meeting Mike's eyes.

Mike nodded, and a moment later the meeting was starting.

The meeting was very informative, but at its conclusion less was set in stone than Kurt might have liked. Apparently, the resistance had a safe house to operate from in The New World—huge, and only recently established— where members would be staying. Getting everyone there seemed to be the main problem. They had decided to leave in small groups, and Kurt would be going the next day with the first group. More than one member was unhappy with this as Kurt was untrained, but fortunately the majority were firmly on his side. Mike would be going with him, along with Finn (whom Kurt had yet to meet and was surprised to learn was also a member of the resistance,) a girl named Sugar who Kurt secretly thought didn't look particularly fierce and Sam, a Son of the Source. He wasn't in attendance and Kurt still wasn't sure what a Son of the Source was, but apparently he would lend them additional protection as well as easing their way back across the barrier through his manipulation of magic.

Kurt still felt a little baffled about how, exactly, they planned to go about rescuing Blaine, but if these people felt it prudent to iron out the details once they got there, well, he would do his best to trust them. It's not like he had any better choice.

Cooper would be included in a later group, something that Kurt had awkwardly fought to make happen at all, and he was more than grateful that they wouldn't be forced into each other's company any more than absolutely necessary.

He was forgetting his troubles a little in a rather enjoyable if confusing conversation with Sugar about her past mishaps with the resistance (which were doing very little to boost his confidence in her, but she seemed not to notice,) when strong hands suddenly clasped around the back of his shoulders and spun him around at dizzying speed.

More than a little startled, he looked up… and up… into a smiling, unfamiliar face. "Hey dude!" the man proclaimed excitedly, still holding onto his shoulders. "I hear we're bros now!"

Kurt blinked. "You must be Finn…"

"Oh yeah, sorry, Finn Hudson," he finally let go a little too hastily, jarring Kurt forward, and stuck out his hand. Kurt shook it politely.

"Kurt Hummel, it's lovely to meet you," he offered.

"I've never had a brother before!" Finn declared, sticking his hands into his pockets. "Or a dad, but Burt's pretty cool. I'm glad they found each other."

"Yeah," was all Kurt could say, still trying to process Finn's exuberance.

Finally taking a moment to study Kurt's face, Finn's own soon fell. "Hey, I'm really sorry about Blaine and all. I didn't really know him because I didn't join until after he was… gone… but I've heard stories, and he sounds like a really cool dude. I'm glad I can help you find him."

Kurt relaxed a little at Finn's sincerity, and he managed a small smile for the taller man. "Thanks, I appreciate your concern. I'm sorry if I'm not at my best right now, but once all this is over," he waved his hand towards the room, "I'm sure I'll really enjoy having you as a brother."

Finn's smile returned as Mike made his way over to them, stepping forward and about to speak when the banging of the door startled all three men—in fact, the entire room—and Kurt looked up to find a man who appeared to be around his own age standing in the doorway.

His presence was striking, to say the least, but Kurt found immediately that he didn't like him. The man was handsome enough—tall, well-dressed, stylish hair—but his face presented a smirking arrogance that made Kurt's stomach turn.

"Sebastian," Mike was saying, stepping towards him but stopping short of a full approach. "You're back."

"Yes," Sebastian grinned cockily. "With news."

"Please then, enlighten us," Wes, a friend of Blaine's from Dalton who now held a leadership role in the resistance, was approaching from the back of the room. Kurt recalled meeting and liking the man earlier, and now felt some satisfaction at hearing the distaste in Wes's voice and reading it on his face as he addressed Sebastian. Apparently they shared in good judgment.

"Blaine is alive," Sebastian informed the room proudly. "And I know where he is."


	4. Interlude One: Dirty Little Secret

**_Important A/N:_** **This is the first of two interludes I've written for this story, and it has very little to do with Klaine. In fact, you could probably skip this part and it wouldn't impact your understanding of the rest of the story. This is entirely Sebofsky, and it's not exactly nice. At a stretch you might consider parts of it dubcon. But it was in my head and I had to write it.**

**This is the only Sebofsky you'll see in this story, but this is setup for a side story I hope to write once this is complete.  
**

**Again, _you don't have to read this._ But I really hope that you will.  
**

* * *

**Interlude I: Dirty Little Secret**

_Two days prior…_

Sebastian Smythe sat the far end of the noisy bar, watching the crowd and taking a small sip of the same drink he'd been nursing now for over an hour. People assumed all the time that spy work was exciting. It had certainly sounded exciting when, fresh out of school, he'd signed up. The reality was much duller.

He'd been quite miffed, to say the least, when he'd returned to The Olde World after a month long mission only to be sent back out again immediately. It seemed a certain somebody had managed to run from prison, but somehow failed to properly execute the escape. Just like Anderson, too, always stirring up trouble. Sebastian had spent years trying to lay him, damned little tease, and Blaine had resisted him at every turn. And now he was MIA.

If he was honest with himself, the opportunity to chase Anderson's tail would have thrilled him to no end had it not been for the circumstances. Apparently, Blaine had managed to meet his soulmate, and in prison no less. Hummel, he thought the name was. Useless bitch, still holed up in bed while Sebastian was sent off to track down his puppy. Now he had even less chance of laying Anderson's fine ass. He had less of a chance of laying anyone's ass, now that he was stuck over here again where it wasn't safe. His eyes scanned the room, taking in the bar's varied patrons. Not that any of these people were worth it.

He took another long drag from the bottle in his hand, finally finishing it off, and was about to call it a night when a couple government lapdogs caught his eye. One of them, a tall, burly man about his age, looked vaguely familiar to him. Sebastian thought hard, his mind in overdrive for a minute until he placed the man. The uniform, the distinct patches sewed onto his jacket… this man worked for the Head of Security.

"… just about to beat the little shit up, when she changes her mind! Now she's got the faggot put up in a fancy room like some kind of prince!"

"Maybe she thinks he'll be worth something," the beefy black man next to him said more calmly.

"Naw," burly answered, taking a swig of his beer. "He's useless, Azimio. It's gotta be something else." His words were slurring a little, and Sebastian could see the sweat beading on his forehead from several feet away.

"Could be she wants him for a good fuck," his friend tried to reason.

"I know her type, I went to school with her. She'll do almost anyone, really, but Anderson's too scrawny. And she hates curly hair."

Sebastian's eyebrows raised just little upon hearing the name, and he leaned forward in his seat.

"I dunno, Dave, you'll just have to let it go, I guess. It's not like it used to be before you got promoted, you gotta keep it clean now."

"I know that," Dave growled back. "It doesn't keep me from wanting to punch his smirky little face in!" He slammed his bottle down on the counter, the sound making Sebastian jump—he'd expected it to shatter.

"Barkeep!" Dave called.

He yelled a few more times before a woman finally moseyed over, scowling at him and crossing her arms expectedly.

"I'll have another beer," he told her, not bothering to look her in the eye.

"No way, Karofsky, you're already too far gone." She turned to Azimio, raising an eyebrow. "Be a good friend, now, take this one home."

With that, she stormed away, ignoring Dave's angry shouts after her.

Sebastian sat frozen in his seat, hardly able to believe what he'd just heard. There was no way.

Karofsky was standing now, Sebastian's eyes following him in a daze. He grabbed his jacket and hastily began to cut through the crowd.

"Where are you going?" Azimio demanded, standing and grabbing his friend by the arm.

Dave shoved him off. "To take a piss," he ground out.

Sebastian shook himself out of his stupor and got up to follow, mentally gathering himself as he went. He soon lost Dave but it mattered little, he'd been here before and knew where the bathroom was.

He swung through the door without much thought. Dave was standing at a urinal, finishing up from the looks of it, and Sebastian was pleased to see that he'd caught him alone. The relief faded, however, when Dave turned to look at him, face full of a type of fury that most can only manage when truly drunk.

"What the fuck are you looking at?" he sneered, eyes roving over Sebastian's body. The expression in them changed momentarily—a flash of shock and something else Sebastian strongly suspected might be interest—before he resumed his look of rage.

Sebastian leaned further back against the doorframe, willing his trademark smirk to fall like a mask over his face. "Nothing," he answered nonchalantly. "You're really not much to look at."

Dave's expression darkened impossibly further. "Don't bullshit me. You're some type of creep, are you? I'll have you know I work for the government. Stare at me like some kind of fucking homo, and I'll arrest you for suspicious behavior."

"Is that right?" Sebastian said, offering up a cocky smile. "Maybe you should arrest yourself, then, because if the look on your face a moment ago was any indication, I'd say you liked it."

Dave paused for a minute, color rising to his face that looked suspiciously like a blush. Then, before Sebastian could fully register it, he was advancing, his glare right in Sebastian's face and his arms like pillars on either side of his head.

"I'm not a fucking faggot!" he spit out, removing one arm to curl it into a fist.

Sebastian put his hands up in mock surrender. "Hey, I don't judge! You don't look the type, but it's ok if you prefer receiving to giving…"

Dave let out a growl of frustration and pulled back, swinging his arm as if he were about to land a blow. Sebastian cringed and closed his eyes, almost regretting his words. He talked a great game, yeah, but he hated to get his face messed up.

The lips that were suddenly, frantically attacking his own came as a great surprise.

He decidedly didn't like David Karofsky—this crass, sloppy hulk of a man before him—and he most certainly didn't find him attractive. Burly bear-cub types weren't exactly his thing, because Sebastian Smythe had more class than that and could do much better for himself. And he had, many times. So why, exactly, he found himself sinking into this kiss, giving it back… well, that was an even greater mystery.

Dave had backed him up against the wall at some point, practically burying Sebastian under his much larger frame, pushing his hips eagerly, harshly into his own. Sebastian's hand crept down, forcing itself between their bodies to find and stroke Dave's hardness before he could even think it.

Realizing what he had done a few moments later, he turned his head to the side, sucking in air as Dave's lips moved to his neck and trying desperately to wrap his mind around this situation, to regain some kind of control or at the very least, equilibrium.

Of course, the best way Sebastian Smythe knew to control any man was with his dick. It was a decision that had nothing to do with lust, he told himself firmly.

Smirking a little, he felt around with his hand until he came upon Dave's zipper. It wasn't long before his hand found its way inside, weaving through layers to wrap solidly around slick, hot, _hard _flesh.

"Is that good," he whispered a little mockingly into Dave's ear as he slowly worked him up and down.

Dave grunted in response. He had stopped slobbering on Sebastian's neck and was now merely panting against it.

Chuckling a little, Sebastian made use of every trick he knew to bring Dave as close as possible, as quickly as possible.

Then he stopped.

Dave whined—actually _whined_—and immediately moved to rut up against him once more, but Sebastian was having none of it. He wriggled a little and stepped to the side, watching with amusement as Dave tried to chase him with his hips, then slumped against the wall in frustration.

Calmly walking to the door, Sebastian checked to make sure it was locked. Assured that it was, he spun back around to consider Dave once more.

"Would you like to get off?" he asked as sweetly as possible.

Dave didn't answer, he was too busy fisting himself. Sebastian reached out and quickly grabbed his wrist, halting his movement. Dave looked up at him then, actually meeting his eyes, and Sebastian was pleased to read a bizarre mix of self-loathing and arousal, disgust and hope and desperation there.

Sebastian's smile widened.

"On your knees," he ordered.

Dave looked startled for only a moment before he dropped, as if he hadn't meant to actually do it. Sebastian wasted no time undoing his zipper and pulling free his cock, stroking it proudly in front of Dave's face as he stared.

"Well," he told the other man with a hint of impatience and condescendence. "Don't play dumb, you know what to do."

Dave's face flashed for a moment with what appeared be disgust, but he swallowed it down as he brought one hand forward to palm himself. Sebastian noticed and kicked it away. "If you do well, I'll take care of you after." He paused. "I'm not a patient man, Karofsky."

To his relief, Dave was inching forward on his knees. He traced Sebastian with his fingers tentatively before moving his face closer and carefully licking up the side.

Sebastian tutted in his head as this continued for a while, until it became too much. Grabbing the others man's head, he forced Dave's mouth over the tip of his cock, restraining himself from shoving fully down his throat. "You're going to have to do better than that," he murmured by way of explanation.

Dave wasn't completely stupid, apparently, and Sebastian relaxed his grip on his head as he began to suck. "That's better," he offered, his fingers brushing through his hair before he realized what he was doing and let his hands fall away completely.

Leaning his head back against the wall, Sebastian began to gently thrust, pulling back a little when Dave sputtered the first time and then speeding up as he seemed to adjust to it. This was so far from the best head he'd ever gotten, but a blowjob was a blowjob, and as usual, the coercion involved somehow made it hotter.

Dave's technique was improving with time, he was sucking steadily now, licking around the head and taking Sebastian's thrusts with ease. Giving in to the growing need inside him, Sebastian pushed up harder, faster. Dave seemed to be having some difficulty with this but Sebastian ignored it this time—better to just get it over with.

"God, that's hot," he said brokenly, watching Dave choke on his cock. He grabbed onto the other man's head, pulling at his hair harshly as he came down his throat, biting back the moan that would reveal too much about the pleasure he was feeling.

He panted quietly against the wall for a few moments as he came down until he noticed Dave struggling a little to get away and pushed the other man off of him, zipping up his pants as Dave fell backwards and caught himself against the ground, coughing. He looked positively wrecked, and Sebastian painted back on his smirk as he straightened his clothes.

Dave recovered quickly and was regarding him expectedly. "You said after you would…"

Sebastian scoffed. "I said if you were good, and certainly you're aware that that was terrible."

Dave gaped at him like a fish for a moment, which would have been amusing if it didn't twist his features so unbecomingly, but his face was soon overtaken by anger. "I don't know what your game is…" he started, pulling himself up off of the floor and stumbling towards Sebastian.

"Woah!" Sebastian said, quickly throwing his hands up as he did earlier. "Lucky for you, I'm not the type to leave a man hanging."

Stepping forward, he directed Dave to take the spot he himself had previously occupied against the wall, and once again reached into the man's pants. Dave slunk down a little as Sebastian worked him, panting into his shoulder.

"I heard you talking earlier, heard you say something about an Anderson. Is there anything you want to tell me about that?"

"I…" Dave tried, clearly flustered. "I can't," he managed to get out.

Sebastian slowed his hand to a crawl. "That's a shame, then, because it would be such a help," he breathed into Dave's ear.

Dave groaned, seeming to catch on to his predicament. "What is it you want to know?"

Sebastian mouthed at his ear, pleased with himself. "His name. Where he's at. How he got there."

"Fuck," Dave said, breaking away a little from Sebastian to lean his head back against the wall. "You can _not_ repeat this."

Sebastian smiled. "My lips are sealed." As if in promise, his hand sped up once again. "Tell me."

Dave thrusted up into his fist, looking like he was thinking far too hard. "Blaine Anderson. They have him at the home of the Head of Security. I brought him in today, after finding him yesterday passed out just outside the barrier. _Shit, _faster!"

Obligingly, Sebastian sped up. He could sense that the other man was getting close and struggled against the strange urge to watch his face. Sex was just a means to an end, he reminded himself. This was certainly no different.

Dave came over his hand with a loud sound somewhere between a groan and a wail, clutching at Sebastian's shoulders as he did so. As soon as his grip had slackened, Sebastian released him and turned away, busing himself with washing his hands at the sink. When he turned back, Dave had yet to compose himself.

"It was a pleasure doing business with you," Sebastian told him with a smirk, and headed for the door.

"Wait," Dave called to him, and when Sebastian paused to consider Dave he noted the strained look on his face, as if stopping Sebastian pained him, but he couldn't keep himself from it. It was probably the truth. "Can I have your name? Please," he added, an afterthought.

Giving in just a little to what he was feeling, Sebastian offered him a bitter smile. "It's probably best if you don't," he said quietly, then left through the door.

With the lives that they both led, revealing that they were soulmates would only be an unwelcome complication.

* * *

_**A/N:**_ Song title is from a song by the All American Rejects. Also, I can make no promises about when I'll next update... it shouldn't be crazy long, probably within the next two weeks or so, but I'm struggling a bit on the chapters I'm working on now, so that's setting me back.

Thank you as always for reading, and please leave a review!


	5. Chapter Four: Looking For Space

**_Chapter Four: Looking For Space_**

_Blaine was alive. _At first, Kurt was ecstatic. Then the reality of it all hit, and he realized that alive or not, Blaine might not stay that way for long now that the government had gotten him. And while the resistance had all been prepared to go searching for Blaine, everybody seemed a little stand-offish at the idea of an actual rescue attempt. After all, the home of the Head of Security was, well, _secure_. Kurt was more than willing to overlook any potential danger, but the remainder of the group had seemed more hesitant.

Oh, well. They would get him across the barrier, at least, and then he would figure out how to get Blaine back. If it came down to it, Kurt was prepared to die trying.

Kurt didn't stay that night at Mike and Tina's home; for the first time he slept in the guest room at Carole and Finn (and his dad's?) house. Finn's soulmate, Rachel, also lived there with them, and she and Kurt hit it off right from the start. At least, that's what Rachel said. Kurt personally found her boisterous enthusiasm for, well, _herself_ to be a bit too much. On the other hand, they did share plenty of interests—musicals, performing and attractive men to name a few—which was promising. Rachel also went on and on about her two gay dads, and while her assumption that Kurt would automatically be interested was annoying, he had to admit to himself that it might be useful to chat with them at some point. He had, after all, never known another gay couple before.

The next morning's breakfast was full of awkward silences, if one dismissed Carole's occasional cheerful attempts at conversation and Rachel's blathering on about a callback she'd just gotten for the perfect role. Kurt could sense, though, that even Rachel was tense and on edge. He and Finn were leaving at 11 am, due to meet the others at the border.

After their meal, Finn helped him pack, having been on similar missions before. Kurt took his advice carefully, then slipped in a few of his own signature pieces while the taller man wasn't looking. Fashion emergencies were, after all, unpredictable. And if they got Blaine out… _when_ they got Blaine out, Kurt corrected himself… he would need to look his best.

Burt drove them all down to the barrier crammed together in Carole's car, which had clearly not been designed for a family of five. When they got there, Kurt immediately spotted Mike and Tina huddled together off to one side, and Sugar sweetly kissing a blushing man with mussed brown hair. The mysterious Sam, it seemed, had yet to arrive.

His stomach twisting inside, he turned reluctantly to face his father. "Dad…"

"Kurt," Burt sighed and pulled him into his arms a little harshly. "I should come with you," he started to say too quickly. "I should come with you and… I dunno, but this isn't fair! This shouldn't be happening to you. I need to do something. I could…"

"Dad!" Kurt cut him off, pulling back just a bit to look into his father's face, startled to see that tears were there, threatening to blink past his eyes. "I need you to stay here, with Carole. I need you to be here, in case something… something happens," he tried hard to keep his voice steady.

Burt squeezed his arms, looking like he wanted to speak but couldn't find the words.

"We'll ready the guest room while you're gone," Carole spoke up, brushing her own tears away from her face after pulling back from hugging Finn, who immediately latched on to Rachel. Or, rather, she latched on to him. "You and Blaine can stay with us, when you get back."

Kurt considered her and nodded. "At least until we get on our feet," he asserted quietly. "But if it isn't too much trouble, I'd like to…"

"We'll get the furniture, then, and you can decorate it yourself when you get back."

Kurt looked back to his father, pleased to see that he appeared more composed, happy that Burt seemed to read his mind. He smiled.

"Thank you, that would be perfect." He reached out towards Burt without really meaning to, grasping at his hand. "Dad, I…"

"I know," his father pulled him into another hug, which Kurt gratefully sank into. "I love you, too," he whispered into Kurt's ear.

When they broke apart Kurt shared an awkward hug with Carole, which he found oddly comforting for reasons he wasn't quite ready to examine. When that was over, Rachel flung herself at him dramatically, taking Kurt by surprise. He patted her back a little and waited for her to detach, looking over her shoulder at Finn, who merely shrugged apologetically.

And then, too soon, they were driving away.

Mike and Sugar were alone when Kurt and Finn turned to find them, and Mike was working himself into a bit of a tizzy.

"I can't believe Sam's still not here! They know that crossing is time-sensitive, but those people just don't…" he groaned, trailing off. "Fifteen minutes. We've only got fifteen minutes!"

But even as he said it, an unusual looking car was pulling up. If it wasn't for the wheels and the gentle hum of the engine, Kurt would almost say it was a carriage. Puzzled, he watched with the others as the car stopped and a stocky man got out of the driver's seat, making his way around to open the passenger's door.

To Kurt's shock, the person practically hopping out of the passenger's side of the car was… one of the prettiest girls he'd ever seen.

It wasn't her features, exactly, though those were nice enough on their own. She was tall and willowy, pale and freckled, face soft and eyes a clear, perfect blue. No, he thought to himself. It was her… energy. Something about her buzzed and shimmered and shone in a way that was pure beauty, pure happiness that Kurt could _feel_ somehow without understanding it.

He wanted to say something as she approached, but when he attempted to gather his thoughts all that came out was… "I thought that Sam was a boy?"

"He is," Mike said sharply, jolting Kurt enough to turn and look at him. He did _not_ look pleased. "This is Brittany, his sister."

Sugar was squealing and running towards the other girl, and Finn was considering him with sympathy. "You get used to it," he offered, squeezing Kurt's shoulder.

"I don't understand," Kurt said a little helplessly.

Mike sighed, eyes finally ripping away from the strange girl to consider Kurt. "Brittany, like Sam, is a child of the Source. The Source is all around us, of course, and it's part of everybody to some extent, but in children of the Source it's… organic, I guess you could say. They can channel it and use it, like a kind of magic. That's why Sam was going with us… their powers offer us protection and will allow us to travel unseen."

"Brittany can't do that?"

"She can," Mike said reluctantly. "It's just… well, all children of the Source are a little different, but Brittany is more different than the rest. It's not a bad thing, we all love her, it's just…"

"You'll understand once you get to talking with her," Finn finished for him.

The girls were approaching them now, and Kurt turned towards them with a smile, fully intending to introduce himself to Brittany. But she was so close now that he froze, overtaken by all the things he was feeling. He hoped this didn't last very long, or he would be next to useless on this trip.

His staring was cut short, however, when the girl rushed at him, throwing her arms around his neck and just as quickly pulling back to do the same to Finn and then Mike. She held their hands, beaming happily and considering each of them in turn. "Is this the dolphin Sam told me about?" she asked eagerly, reminding him of nothing so much as a child who'd been promised a special treat.

"Yes, Brittany," Mike told her patiently, a small, indulgent smile gracing his face.

Brittany squealed and hugged him again. "You're Kurt, then, I knew it! I've met a few dolphins, but you're special. I think maybe you're a unicorn, too, like me!"

"Uhhh… thanks," Kurt offered, a little taken aback.

She seemed to consider him for a minute, and slowly her smile faded. "I'm sorry about the other dolphin. Blaine, right? Your soulmate? I really hope you find him," she spoke with great sincerity, tears pooling in her eyes, and suddenly Kurt was feeling the absence of Blaine all over again and fighting back his own tears.

He blinked at her, truly touched by her concern, and tried to smile. "Thank you, Brittany. I can already sense that we're going to be friends."

Brittany beamed again. "Of course we are, silly!"

"Right," Mike said, and Kurt suddenly remembered that the others were present, looking up to find that Finn and Mike were watching them looking somewhat uncomfortable, while Sugar wore a happy smile on her face. "We really need to leave; there's only five minutes left in our window. We can hear about why Brittany is here instead of Sam after we've gotten to the other side."

He was hurrying towards the barrier the moment he finished speaking, not bothering to wait for a response, and the girls fell into step after him.

Kurt took a nervous breath, a small, forced step, Finn hanging back and considering him with awkward concern.

"Hey, are you going to be alright with this? I just thought after what happened the last time…"

Kurt smiled at him. "I guess I have to be, right? But thanks."

"Yeah, dude, we are brothers now. And I promise, it's not as bad, going in this direction."

* * *

Finn was right. Crossing the barrier this way merely disoriented Kurt for a few minutes, an effect he seemed to share with the others. Recovering quickly, they pressed on.

They were walking to the safehouse, which was a good day's journey by foot. Mike-clearly the designated leader of their group—explained on the way that it was safer, because Brittany's magic could keep them hidden from sight but could not hide man-made objects, such as a vehicle.

While trudging through the forest was certainly not Kurt's preferred activity (especially when it became necessary to use the restroom—or rather lack of one,) he reminded himself that it was bringing him closer to Blaine. At least it better be, because he could think of no one else he'd willingly do this for.

They chatted most of the way, Kurt learning several very interesting things from the others. Brittany explained to them that her grandmother, who had raised her and her twin brother Sam, would not permit him to abandon his training to become Master of the Source in order to join them on their mission. It was only reluctantly that she agreed to send Brittany in his stead, rightfully (in Kurt's opinion) concerned about the girl involving herself in a potentially dangerous mission.

Brittany was, of course, trained to use her abilities effectively and, being a daughter of the Source, she was much harder to harm than the average person. But Kurt was slowly starting to understand what a special and unique person Brittany was, even as the effects of being around her for the first time were finally beginning to fade. He could sympathize with the woman's hesitance.

Mike explained to Kurt how the resistance had formed, and he was surprised to learn that Blaine was one of its earliest—and founding—members.

"He never said as much to me," Kurt commented quietly. For some reason the omission _hurt_.

Mike nodded. "Blaine's very modest, and besides, it was actually Cooper's idea. Blaine inspired it, of course, but Cooper was hesitant to let his little brother actually take part, especially when he decided to drop out of college and join in on the actual missions. But Blaine was stubborn, you know how he gets."

Kurt nodded, but he really didn't know. Blaine had never been stubborn with him personally, at least not yet. "So you dropped out and joined when Blaine did?"

"That's right."

Kurt cocked his head to consider him. "Why?"

For a minute, the Mike seemed taken aback by the question. "Blaine was my best friend, and I guess a part of it was being young and eager to jump in to something like that… but really, it's about the cause. I really believe in what we're fighting for. The current laws in The New World aren't just hurting homosexuals, they hurt no-names, too, and anyone else who rebels against the mating laws or the system. I've known too many people seeking refuge from that place. No one in my family, but I'm one of the few."

"I joined because of my mom," Finn spoke up, startling Kurt a little. "You know she was a no-name, before your dad. My _father_—" he spit out the word "—knocked her up and abandoned her when he met his soulmate two months later. She found a way to The Olde World, but it wasn't easy. If she had stayed here…"

"She would have been arrested," Kurt finished for him, thinking of Quinn. "I'm sorry, Finn."

The taller man shrugged. "It's all good now, dude. We've had a nice life over there, and besides, Rachel turned out to be there as well. And now… well, your dad's made her happier than I've ever seen her."

"Good," Kurt said sincerely. "I'm glad they found each other."

The new brothers shared a smile.

"What's your story, Sugar?" Kurt ventured to ask.

"You mean why I'm in the resistance?" the perky girl returned, but didn't wait for clarification. "It's to become famous, silly!"

"But… isn't this dangerous?"

Sugar nodded vigorously. "My daddy tried to talk me out of it, but I know he'll be proud when we win and everybody knows it. He hates The New World too, you know. He's really, really rich and they didn't want to let him keep all of his money. So we left." She shrugged, as if all of this was no big deal.

Kurt tried to smile at her but thought it probably came out as more of a grimace. "Any reason is good enough for a good cause, I suppose." He wasn't quite convinced of it himself.

Sugar seemed to agree, though. "That's what Rory said—my soulmate. He's Irish," she said the last part proudly, with a little giggle.

_Irish, Irish…_ Kurt knew he had heard the word before, but it took a minute before it clicked. Ireland was one of the countries that existed long ago that were eradicated with the introduction of the Source. Of course, many people still held on to the old terminology of their heritage. He thought it was part of The Far World, a place he had learned about but never been to.

"How did you manage to find him there?" Kurt couldn't help but ask, his curiosity piqued. Not only was it a place where few here traveled, but it was almost unheard of for soulmates to be born that far apart.

"Daddy sent some people," Sugar said. "He wasn't going to let me be _alone_."

The conversation halted there, and the group traveled in silence for a while, stopping every so often to rest or take care of necessities. It was during a dinner break that Kurt finally worked up the courage to question Brittany, who curiously seemed to be the only one of his companions who hadn't mentioned a mate.

"Brittany," he snagged the girl's attention away from her bag of gummy snacks, which she appeared to be playing with almost as if they were dolls. "Have you found your soulmate yet?"

His face fell when hers did, and he wished he could take back the overly-personal question.

"No," Brittany said sadly. "I don't think she's in The Olde World, or she'd have found me by now."

It took a moment for Kurt to process the "she" in her words, which shouldn't have surprised him but did, and realize what that meant. "Oh, Brittany," was all he could say. "I'm sure that…"

"Don't," she cut him off. "I know what you're going to say, and I don't need false hope. I know what it means."

Kurt studied her for a minute, feeling her sadness as his own, before finally nodding. "Ok. I'm sorry, Brittany, I shouldn't have asked."

She smiled at him, and though it was still a little sad it seemed genuine enough. "It's ok, dolphin. You're allowed to ask."

She turned back to her gummy bears and Kurt to his energy bar, somehow feeling more determined now than ever.

* * *

The safehouse was located only two miles outside of the nearest town, but it was well hidden, surrounded by trees and lacking any notable indication that there was a clearing there at all. Still, it was large and attractive—a far cry from the shabby hideaway Kurt had been picturing (and dreading.)

Even something shabby would have been a welcome respite from all their traveling, but Kurt would take the stability of brick any day.

It was long after night had fallen when they approached the safehouse, Mike taking the initiative to climb the stairs to the porch and knock on the door with the others following close behind. They stood together and waited, and soon the door was thrown open. The young woman greeting them was someone Kurt had never expected to see again.

She scanned their group before her eyes landed on Kurt, and they widened almost comically in surprise. "Boo? Is that really you?"

Kurt could feel the grin stretching over his face as he nodded at his former best friend before launching himself into her arms. "It's been far too long, Mercedes."

* * *

_**A/N: **_First of all, a huge thank you to my new beta, Purple Pen!

The title from this chapter is from the song "Looking for Space" by John Denver. It took me a long time to pick a song I thought fit, and this was the best I could manage.

As always, thank you for reading and please let me know what you think!


	6. Chapter Five: Come As You Are

**_A/N: _**I'm feeling rather insecure about this chapter. Please tell me if you hate it! There's not a whole lot of action, this is more about character/relationship development. I hope you don't mind!

Title is from the song "Come As You Are" by Nirvana.

* * *

**_Chapter Five: Come As You Are_**

Santana didn't come to see him that night despite what she had stated, but Blaine was sent a doctor and given a rather elaborate meal, and the rooms he was shown to were far grander than he had anticipated. It should have made him happy after all that he'd endured over the past few days, but instead it just made him confused… and suspicious.

His anxiety only grew when he didn't see Santana the next day, or the day after that. As predicted, the doctor had told him his leg would heal nicely (it was fractured, not broken), but he wasn't supposed to walk on it for a few days. He was given no crutches, so that meant he was holed up in his rooms. Not that he was able to go anywhere, anyway, what with the guard that was always posted outside his door.

Blaine wanted information and had no way to get it. He had seen Sandy again on a few occasions, but they guy creeped him out too much for Blaine to give him any excuse to linger. Terri brought him every meal, but the previously gossipy woman was astoundingly tight-lipped any time he questioned his predicament or demanded to speak to Santana. Perhaps she didn't know much herself.

By day four he was fed up. While he was grateful to be alive, Blaine was a man of action and no act of charity—if that's even what this was—could bring him to feel indebted enough to become a sitting duck, especially not with Kurt waiting for him and probably worring himself death over where he was. Blaine was going to get his answers one way or another, and then he'd be getting back to Kurt.

With that intent in mind, he made himself as presentable as possible and limped out the doorway, trying his best to ignore the pain shooting through his leg. In his arms he carried his bedside lamp—unfortunately the heaviest stand-in for a weapon he could find—fully intending to knock the guard out if necessary or, more preferably, merely threaten the man.

But the guard was asleep. Blaine could hardly believe his luck!

It took him some time, but eventually he worked his way back to the dining room he remembered passing when he had first been taken to his rooms. He only hoped that Santana would be there this morning. For all he knew, she could be away on business or taking breakfast in bed.

His fears were for naught, though, because there she was, seemingly fixated on her plate of eggs and bowl of cereal while Sandy lurked in the corner, watching her eat. A shudder ran through Blaine as the older man looked up and caught his eye, but before he could say anything Blaine straightened up the best he could and went marching in.

He tried to march, anyway. It was the effort that counted.

Santana had already noticed him by the time he was next to her at the table, but he slammed his fists down next to her plate anyways—partly for dramatic effect, and partly because looming next to her had the advantageous side effect of allowing him to rest most of his weight against the table.

"Santana," he said, his voice carefully confident, but not cruel. "I want some answers."

Santana seemed almost bored as she considered him before turning her gaze back to her breakfast. "Very presumptuous of you, isn't it, storming in here and disturbing _my _breakfast when I've been kind enough to spare your life and put you up. You're either exceedingly brave or exceedingly stupid, but my money's on both."

He studied her for a moment, trying to decide where to go with this next. Perhaps he should have planned things out a little better.

"Maybe I'm just extremely determined," he offered at last, mentally chastising himself when he sounded softer and less sure than intended.

She looked back over at him, this time looking him up and down as though pondering something. Finally, she rolled her eyes and set about buttering a slice of toast. "Sit down, hobbit. At your height you need every inch of those legs!"

Blaine was taken aback—her tone was almost kind, a little teasing. Not at all what he had come to expect from this woman. He sat, pulling out a chair a few down from her, and waited. But Santana didn't offer to speak again.

"Why did you decide not to kill me?" he finally ventured. "I certainly wasn't cooperative, and I'm everything you're against. I don't understand."

For a long moment she didn't answer, but then…

"Sandy, leave us," she ordered.

Blaine watched in amazement as the other man bowed to her—actually _bowed_—before quietly leaving the room.

When he was gone, Santana turned back to him with a look on her face that was hard for Blaine to read.

"I'm not a nice person, Blaine," she began, shocking him with the use of his first name. "And I'm certainly not a good one. But there are things that are very important to me, and I believe in integrity. I believe in loyalty. I haven't had many true friends in my life, but those that I have had I'd do anything for. And that includes putting my personal beliefs aside when my priorities demand it."

Blaine shook his head. "You're still not making any sense."

"I saw the name on your hand, you must have realized that. Kurt Hummel. He's your soulmate, and back in high school he was one of my closest friends. I would never do anything to hurt him."

Blaine didn't even try to hide the shock on his face, or in his voice. "Even now that you know that he's..."

"What, homosexual? I didn't know before, but I had guessed."

"But you've dedicated your entire life to the law and to support the regulations against homosexuality! You're the poster child for 'show no mercy!' Don't even pretend you weren't about to let them kill me a few days ago, that you didn't enjoy it, that parts of you don't _hate _me and everything that I am!"

She smiled at him, but Blaine wasn't sure he liked it. "I'm not very good at pretending anything."

"I don't understand," he said again, hating the weakness in his own voice.

"You don't have to," Santana said, drinking down the last of her juice. "I don't need you to, and I also don't need to explain myself to you. It should be enough that you're alive."

Blaine set his jaw. "Does this mean you're going to let me go? Send me back to Kurt?"

Santana laughed. "I said that I'm loyal, not stupid. That would be dangerous for both of us, and you know it."

"Then what are you going to do with me? I'm not accustomed to lazing around uselessly, and I don't prefer it!"

She smirked at him, standing up and pushing in her chair. "Annoying, isn't it? I'm rather enjoying that. "

Without another word, she spun and left the room, leaving Blaine to sit there in stunned silence and contemplate his next move.

* * *

Blaine spent some time stubbornly hobbling around the castle (he had taken to calling it that in his head, unable to think of the elaborate building as a house) lost in thought. To his surprise, the few people he came across didn't stop to question him or even acknowledge that he was there.

When the pain became too much to bear, he made his way reluctantly back to his rooms. What he found when he reached them shocked him even more. His guard was nowhere in sight, but there was a sturdy-looking pair of crutches leaning up against the wall in his stead that were just the right height. Entering the room, Blaine found a fresh set of clothing laid out on the bed along with a note that simply read "because you stink."

Clearly, he wouldn't be figuring Santana out anytime soon. But that didn't mean he had any intention of giving up.

He took the remainder of his meals for the day in his room, begrudgingly resting his leg after the strain he had so stupidly placed on it that morning. But the next day, he dressed in his new clothes and made his way once again to the dining room, slowly growing accustomed to using his crutches and grateful he had continued to put effort into maintaining his upper body strength even while in prison.

Kurt had appreciated that too, he reminded himself with a smug grin. Then it hit him once again that Kurt was terribly far away right now, and the situation would probably remain that way for the foreseeable future.

The dining room was empty. Blaine waited for three hours before finally giving up, returning to his rooms to find his own breakfast had been delivered and had long since grown cold.

Fortunately, the day after that brought him more luck.

"Are you planning to make a habit of disturbing my morning meal? I've never been one to laze about with breakfast in bed, but suddenly the idea has growing merit."

"I'll show up here every day if I have to," Blaine told her confidently. "Until you give me my answers or agree to send me home."

He expected another witty comeback, but she surprised him again.

"Sit," she said, gesturing to the chair he had occupied two days before. "Sandy, please have Mr. Anderson's breakfast sent here. He will be dining with me every morning from now on."

Blaine cocked an eyebrow at her. "Does that mean…"

"It means, hobbit, that even your company is better than none at all. Your pathetic ploys to get what you want out of me are amusing, and I'm always up for a challenge."

He gaped at her until his breakfast appeared, almost knocking over his orange juice because he didn't notice it was now on the table.

"Eat," Santana ordered. "I'll ask the questions."

Obediently he sawed off a hunk of sausage and brought it to his mouth, running through a mental list of all the things he couldn't tell her but expected her to ask.

"First off," she started, "I want to hear how Hummel's doing. We haven't spoken since early college, I think."

Blaine gulped as he swallowed, taken aback by her question. "He's doing well enough," he answered cautiously. "I think he enjoyed the job he had at the prison, but it wasn't really what he wanted."

Santana nodded. "Yeah, I don't think I ever saw him truly happy. It was always like he was afraid to really be himself, you know? He always held his head up and laughed everything off in high school, but those of us that knew him… well, we could see how much he was hurting."

Blaine found himself agreeing with her insight. "He's in The Olde World, now," he mused almost wistfully. "I was looking forward to watching him discover himself there. I hope… I mean, I think I made him happy, but there's still so much out there for him."

"That's probably the best place for him to be," Santana offered, sounding sincere and a little pensive. "I'm glad he could get away."

"What about you?" Blaine asked carefully, putting down his fork and giving her his full attention. "Don't you ever wish you could get out of here? Don't you wish you'd gotten away, before…"

He was fully prepared for another cutting retort, but Santana surprised him with a small, sad smile. "What about me? I have everything I could want here, I'm achieving everything I've worked for. Power is the ultimate victory, Anderson."

Blaine knew he shouldn't risk it, but… "What about love, Santana? You don't have your soulm…"

Her eyes went cold again in an instant. "I don't need a soulmate. I feel very little desire to be with anyone now, and it's for the best. Caring about people sucks, and I'm much better off without it. I'm much stronger."

"You seem to care about Kurt," Blaine ventured, unfazed by her response.

"Not nearly enough to throw my life away for him, as you seem so eager to do. Don't tell me you didn't know when you ran how risky it was, especially for you. You can't honestly still believe you made the right choice."

"There was no other choice to make, Santana. It was worth it, to be with him… to take him someplace where he can truly be himself."

"It was foolishness that landed you here, and it almost got you killed," she shot back. "And I'm sure he's worse off now than ever, now that you're gone and he has no clue what happened."

"He's safe and he's free," Blaine argued, but his voice broke.

"You really believe that?" she asked, watching as he nodded. "Then you don't know him nearly as well as you think you do, loverboy. There's no way Hummel's going to sit around there and wait while you're missing. He's probably finding a way back over here as we speak."

"No," Blaine protested, more to himself. He'd never even considered that before, and he really didn't want to.

"I'm sorry," Santana said more gently than he thought she was capable of. "I've heard rumors of your little group planning a coup, but nothing about Kurt. We can't know for sure."

Blaine pushed away from the table and grabbed his crutches, pulling himself up carefully. "I don't think I'm feeling very hungry anymore," he told her, heading for the door. "Thank you for your hospitality."

"Blaine," she called out after him. He would have ignored it except she used his first name, and so he paused. "I'll see you here tomorrow morning."

Choosing to overlook that it wasn't a request, Blaine nodded. "See you the morning," he echoed.

When he got back to his room Blaine collapsed on his bed. For the first time since his youth, he allowed himself to cry.

* * *

True to his word, Blaine showed up for breakfast the next morning and each morning after that. Given his current circumstances, he couldn't say that he _liked _Santana, per se, and he was having an even harder time understanding her supposed friendship with Kurt, but something about her made him almost look forward to their morning conversations. It also never hurt to befriend the enemy.

They had a sort-of routine now. Santana would begin every one of their breakfasts with an insult to his person and then practically order him to sit and eat. Blaine would oblige her and spend the meal questioning her beliefs and life choices, which inevitably led to an argument. Santana displayed no more insight into his world view than he had of hers, but to his surprise she generally avoided asking him about the resistance and any plans they might have had. If their discussion didn't grow so heated as to warrant Blaine storming out (which was becoming easier to effectively accomplish with his leg healing more each day), he would usually end the meal by trying to convince her to let him leave and go back to Kurt. Unsurprisingly, she always refused.

He was seriously considering running away, but he knew that would be stupid. Besides, what if Kurt really was here, trying to find him? As much as he would like to believe that Kurt was safely waiting for him across the barrier, Santana's concerns (and somehow, he was convinced she truly did care about the other man) made sense. If, Source forbid, they were true… then there was no way in hell he'd be leaving for The New World without Kurt by his side—preferably _tied _to his side, so they couldn't be separated this time.

To his dismay (and, guiltily, excitement) he received all but confirmation of his fears almost three weeks after his arrival.

"Blaine," Santana addressed him the moment he arrived that morning, her eyes lacking their usual spark of mischief, instead almost sad. "Please, have a seat."

Eyeing her curiously, he did so. "Is something wrong?"

"I thought you might like to know that my guards have heard rumors that your resistance group is in the country. Now, I haven't heard mention of Kurt's name specifically—or anyone's for that matter—but…"

"But," he prompted when she seemed hesitant to continue.

"But, according to my sources, it appears they're here looking for you."

Blaine swallowed, the implications of this hitting him immediately. "That's…" he didn't know how to continue. "What are you doing about it?"

Santana sighed. "I'm doing my job, of course. But my men have orders that any suspected members are to be brought here immediately, as unharmed as possible. That's the best I can really give you, right now. I'll let you know if I hear more."

Taken aback by her kindness, Blaine tried to smile. "Thank you." He paused, hesitating. "I don't suppose you'd let me leave and try to find him, would you?"

"You know me better than that," she deadpanned, shooting him a dirty look.

Blaine almost laughed. "Yeah, I guess I do."

"You, umm… you don't have to eat here, this morning, if you don't feel like it. I'd understand."

"That's ok. I'm not very hungry, but it might do me good to be around a friend."

Blaine froze the moment the words left his mouth, but it was too late. Recovering quickly, he looked over and met Santana's eyes. "Is that what we are? Are we friends?"

She scoffed. "In your dreams, Anderson," she said easily, turning hastily to her breakfast.

The soft smile she sent him a few moments later when she thought he wasn't looking told Blaine otherwise.

* * *

**_A/N: _**A big thank you once again to my beta, Purple Pen. As I said, not happy with this chapter, so let me know if you have something to critique!


	7. Chapter Six: Torn

**_A/N: _**So sorry for the extended wait, but I'm writing as I go now. I hope you enjoy this chapter as things finally start to happen! Title is from the song "Torn" by Natalie Imbruglia - I didn't want to use a song they had done on Glee, but this title was chosen long before they did it, so...

Big thanks to my beta, purple pen, who was a _huge_ help on this chapter!

* * *

**_Chapter Six: Torn_**

Staying in the safehouse was nothing like Kurt had imagined. There was a lot of talking, and there was a lot of sitting. Occasionally, there was some arguing.

There wasn't much of anything else.

So far, the highlight of the whole experience had been Mercedes. Once practically joined at the hip, Kurt hadn't seen the girl since his junior year of high school, when her family had suddenly moved away. She'd called one day unexpectedly to say goodbye and that they couldn't stay in touch. There had been no explanation. Kurt had been heartbroken.

Apparently, her family had gone into hiding after her older brother, Michael, had—get this—_met his soulmate_, whose name was Andrew. Both boys had been rehabilitated, seemingly effectively, but something had still clicked for them when they met. Andrew's family was heavily involved in the government, so Mercedes' parents had taken him in and they all packed up and went away together. Eventually, Michael and Andrew found their way to The Olde World, where they now lived happily. Michael was a successful doctor and Andrew taught elementary school. They had even adopted a son together; Mercedes had shown him the pictures. It was a beautiful love story, and just the thought of sharing a future like that with Blaine brought tears to Kurt's eyes.

Mercedes, her parents and her sister had eventually re-emerged in society, but when Andrew and Michael told them about the resistance, they had wanted to help. The whole family now pitched in to run the safehouse, though they still owned their own home to keep up the façade and so that Mercedes' father, who was a dentist, could continue his practice.

Mercedes herself was still single and as tight-lipped about the name of her soulmate as ever. Kurt had shared Blaine's name with her long ago, trusting that because of her brother, she was a friend he could confide in. At the time he had been desperate for someone to tell, and Mercedes had never let him down. Seeing her again was like a dream come true. The two immediately fell back into their old patterns of friendship, which at the moment meant that Kurt had someone to hold him while he cried, which he still did quite frequently and privately. He knew that he was a strong person, but Blaine's absence hurt more than anything he had experienced since the loss of his mother, even if he now had a small modicum of hope to cling to.

They also sang together, much to the amusement of some of the others. A few of their friends would reluctantly join in, and they'd actually gleaned a fairly decent choir from the growing number of people staying at the house.

And so he spent the endless days chatting with Mercedes and sometimes Brittany, who he continued to feel a growing connection to that he was certain now had nothing to do with the Source. There was something special about the girl—something gentler, something kinder. He was also developing a decent relationship with his new step-brother and some of the other guys, including Blaine's old Dalton classmates David and Wes, who had arrived with the second and fourth groups, respectively.

Kurt was enjoying his time, but he was also restless and eager to find Blaine. That was, after all, why he'd come. Of course he believed in the cause, but Blaine came first for him and always would. It was disheartening that the only real resistance-related business that was going on was the relentless arguing about strategy and the making of endless posters for the cause, which were almost always torn down as quickly as they could be put up. Maybe it said too much about Kurt's inner nerd, but his favorite slogan read: "Will the Source be with you? Join the Resistance!"

The only other member of their growing group who seemed to be similarly uncomfortable with the lack of action was, surprisingly, Brittany. Since they had arrived at the safehouse, she frequently seemed withdrawn and melancholy, a far cry from the exuberant girl he had met before they left The Olde World. He asked Mike about this, mostly because Mike seemed to know things, but the other man didn't seem to think it was an issue.

"It's because the Source isn't as strong here," he explained dismissively. "Children of the Source need it more than we do."

Kurt wasn't so sure that this was the extent of it, but the only one with a different answer was Brittany herself, and as usual, her articulation wasn't exactly stellar.

"There's something sad here," she told him. "Like, there's something pulling me, something I'm meant to do, but I can't because we're stuck _here_."

"Mike said it's because the Source is weaker, and you miss it," Kurt offered lamely.

Brittany shook her head. "That's sad too," she said. "But that's not what feels so _wrong._"

"I don't like it here either. I mean, all of you are great!" he assured her quickly. "But I just didn't expect all this waiting. I need to find Blaine!"

Brittany hugged him. "I really want to help you find your dolphin, Kurt."

"Then why don't we?" he said, breaking away from her abruptly as the idea popped into his head. "What's stopping us from leaving, really?"

"It's not safe out there…"

"You're right," Kurt's shoulders slumped, the adrenaline leaving him as suddenly as it had come. "I would never want to put you in danger, Brittany."

"… but we'd be much safer together. I can hide us with my powers!"

Kurt shook his head. "It's too risky; I can't ask you to do that. And we don't even know where we're going."

Brittany looked sad again. "I really want to help."

This time, Kurt pulled her into his arms. "It's ok Brit, we'll find a way. My idea was stupid, but eventually we'll think of something that's safe."

* * *

The next day, Sebastian showed up with the most recent group.

If Kurt had sensed that Sebastian was unpopular before, it was even more evident here. A few people treated him with something resembling respectful fear, but the rest just sent him glares and did their best to ignore his constant, antagonizing banter.

Kurt mostly stayed out of his way, but that could only work for so long.

Sure enough, a couple of days after he'd arrived, Sebastian slid into the open seat next to him at dinner. Kurt immediately looked for a quick escape, but there were few seats left and he could hardly abandon the meal he'd just started without it seeming suspiciously rude.

"So, you're Anderson's soulmate, huh?"

Kurt glanced quickly at Sebastian's face and away again as he took a bite of his salad. He took his time chewing, swallowing deliberately, before finally answering: "I am."

Sebastian laughed. "Well, then, it really is a shame he didn't tap this while he still had the chance!"

Kurt's fork clattered to his plate. "Excuse me?"

The other man shrugged and didn't even try to look innocent. "He was quite a tease about it, actually. We'd start making out, I'd think I had the green light… and he would back out every time. The sap. Look what he has to show for it now."

For the first time in his life, Kurt was seeing red. "And what, pray tell, would that be?" he inquired, fighting to keep his voice as even as possible.

"Kurt…" David's placating voice came from across the table, where he had stopped eating to eye the two in concern. "Come on, he's not worth it."

"Well," Sebastian began, his tone matter-of-fact, "I mean, have you looked at yourself lately? Have you ever heard the term 'gay face'? It exists for a reason, honey."

Kurt gripped the edge of the table, his knuckles turning white. "Whatever my face may be, _Smythe_, at least it doesn't remind anyone of small, repulsive rodents. I'm certain if Blaine turned you down, it was only to spare you from the projectile vomit he feared emitting if forced to endure another moment in your presence."

Sebastian laughed again, and Kurt gave up on the table, instead allowing his hands to curl into fists, trying to focus on the sharp pain of his own nails digging into flesh.

"Kurt!" a voice came from behind, and both men spun around to find Finn standing there, looking awkward as ever but even taller from where they were both seated. "Is there a problem here?'' he frowned down at Sebastian.

"No, no, Kurtsie here was just sharing some of his best fashion tips! Regrettably, I prefer to stick to _men's_ clothing, but…"

Finn stepped closer. "Kurt's a better man than me, so he probably won't hit you. But I have no such limitations, and I can think of several others here who would be quite happy for an excuse. You want to try that?"

"I'm sorry," Sebastian grinned, looking back and forth between Kurt and Finn. "I just remembered a matter I need to consult Wes over. I'm sure you'll excuse me while I find him…" He stood gracefully, smoothing down his shirt before taking his tray and somehow shuffling through the small space Finn had allowed without bumping him at all.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Finn sank into his empty seat. "I'm sorry, man, Smythe's always been a douche."

Kurt sucked in a breath and shook his head as if to clear it before relaxing his fists, taking up his fork and carefully twirling a bite of spaghetti. "No, it's ok. Thank you. I usually don't suffer fools gladly, but… lately, this entire place has me on edge. Blaine's out there in custody, while I sit and twiddle my thumbs and play the waiting game like an obedient little schoolboy."

"Yeah, I get it, dude. I totally would have done something stupid by now if it was Rachel stuck there. Especially with Lopez's reputation…"

"Lopez?"

"Yeah, the Head of Security? She's known for being tough, but hey, I wouldn't sweat it—Smythe already said he's being held alive, so there must be a reason."

Kurt could hardly believe it, could hardly force the question out. "You don't happen to know her first name, do you?"

Finn actually smiled a little. "You know, I don't usually remember stuff like that but it's kind of funny… I think it's like Satan or something? I'm surprised you don't know."

_Santana Lopez. _"How ironic," Kurt said dryly, more to himself. After a minute he looked up and met Finn's eyes. "I don't really follow that stuff much anymore." How stupid was that, because Kurt might have known.

He should have known.

"Say, Finn, you don't happen to know where the Head of Security is located, do you?" Kurt kept his voice down, glancing nervously across the table, but David appeared to be happily engaged in conversation with the woman seated next to him. Kurt couldn't quite remember her name.

Finn's brow furrowed. "No, but I think we have like… maps or something. I don't know if the building itself is on there. Why?"

It didn't matter, Kurt thought. It didn't matter because he remembered what city it was in, and that was good enough. He just needed to know where the hell he was, how far he was from where Blaine was being held. A map was exactly what he needed to help with that.

Thank the Source he'd always possessed a bit of a knack for acting.

He offered Finn a sad little smile. "It's just… I don't know, it'd be nice to have some idea exactly how close or far he is, you know?"

His new brother nodded sympathetically. "Yeah, man, I get that. I could try to find you one of those maps?"

"That would be so great, Finn," Kurt nodded enthusiastically. "It's just… don't tell anyone? It's kind of embarrassing."

Finn actually mimed the zipping and locking of his lips, and Kurt almost laughed. "Your secret's safe with me."

"Thank you, this means a lot."

"What's a favor between bros?"

They shared another smile, and Kurt happily returned to eating.

* * *

Kurt got his map only a few hours later, but it took him a few days to work past the guilt of doing what he knew he needed to do next.

It looked to be about a three days journey on foot, based on what they'd traveled that first day. No way could he get through that alone, not when they knew his face.

He needed Brittany. He _hated_ that he needed Brittany.

"Brit," he said, approaching her as she was decorating a spare poster with smileys and rainbows. She looked to be reasonably happy for once and was alone—a difficult thing to come by around here. "I… I need a favor. But you don't have to say yes!"

Brittany giggled, turning to face him and holding up her poster. "Isn't it pretty?"

"That's… a great improvement, actually," he said sincerely.

She beamed at him and put the poster down, turning to give him her full attention. "What's up, Kurt?"

He swallowed hard. "Did you… did you mean it, what you said about helping me find Blaine?"

Brittany looked confused. "Of course I did silly. I always mean what I say."

"I got a map," he told her. "I think I could get us there. I… I don't know what we'd do, once we got there, but the Head of Security was one of my friends in high school. I don't think she'd hurt us if we were caught. It would mean about three days of walking, and we couldn't tell anyone…"

Kurt had been studying the ground as he rambled, too nervous to look her in the eye, so he startled when he was cut off with clapping and a sharp squeal.

"A secret adventure!" Brittany said excitedly, jumping to her feet. "When can we leave?"

This was a stupid plan. It was hardly a plan at all, Kurt knew that. But taking in Brittany's glowing face, he couldn't help but smile.

* * *

It was almost too easy, sneaking nonperishable food from the rather sizable pantry, stuffing spare clothes into backpacks, stealing flashlights and sleeping supplies and a compass and bug spray, etc. from the supply closet. The hardest part was saying goodbye, because he couldn't really say it. He could hug Finn and Mercedes without it drawing too much attention, though the action had clearly taken Finn by surprise, his new brother patting at Kurt's back in that endearingly awkward way he had. But the others…

He hated that he was betraying their trust.

A few days later, they were slipping from the house unseen in the dark, wee hours of the morning. Brittany was even surprisingly good at keeping quiet.

The journey was miserable, but then Kurt had expected that. It was also remarkably [dangerously] simple. Brittany's magic kept them out of sight effortlessly, and Kurt was good about covering their tracks.

They chatted and laughed together where there was less risk of being overheard, mostly made-up stories and Brittany telling him about her life growing up as a Daughter of the Source. It was lighthearted and fascinating—exactly what Kurt needed to distract him. Other times Brittany grew strangely quiet, almost sad, as if she were disappearing inside her own head. But when Kurt asked quietly if she was okay, she smiled and nodded as if she meant it. In spite of the blisters and the sore muscles and the nagging worry that never really left him, especially in the silence, the first two days passed quickly. They were even on schedule.

They were stupid, unprepared, naïve, foolish. It wasn't even that they'd let down their guard.

It was the morning of the last day of their trip. They were talking, laughing, almost sluggishly packing up camp. They didn't hear the guards coming, but the guards must have heard them.

It turns out Brittany's magic is pretty useless when someone already knows that you're there.

He should be running. He should grab Brittany's hand, and they should run.

Kurt eyed their guns and thought _you can't outrun a bullet._

Kurt stood there, frozen in place, staring at them. All he could think was _shit._


	8. Chapter Seven: Tangled

_**A/N:**_ Dear readers, my sincere apologies for the wait. I hit a bit of writers block with this story. I'd like to say things will move on from here more quickly, but I feel like the next chapter (actually another interlude!) will be quite challenging. The good news is that it's already plotted out and started.

Also, I hope this doesn't bother too many people, but for the purposes of this story Brittany's full name is Brittany Evans instead of Brittany Pierce, since she's Sam's sister and "Sam Pierce" sounded really odd to me.

Song title is from the song "Tangled Up In You" by Staind.

Many thanks for my beta, Purple Pen, and my wonderful reviewers - I couldn't do this without any of you!

* * *

_**Chapter Seven: Tangled**_

It had been almost a month since Blaine had been brought here, since he had last [_seen, touched, kissed_] spoken to Kurt. His leg was almost completely healed. To celebrate his cast coming off, Santana had sweetly offered to "beat his ass." They now boxed almost daily, and Blaine had to admit that it felt good to pick up the sport he had left behind when he dropped out of college. It felt good to hit something, felt good to be hit. Even if that something was a someone, and that someone was a girl. Maybe especially because it was _this _girl in particular.

But it still wasn't enough.

Even this new, familiar form of stress relief couldn't dissipate the growing, gnawing itch under Blaine's skin. The itch that said _what are you waiting for?_ The nagging scream of _what about Kurt? _Perhaps worst of all was the feeling of wrongness. Blaine Anderson didn't sit and stay like a good boy, or he never had before. Blaine Anderson was a man of action.

He and Santana were just finishing up an afternoon spar, Blaine's blood pounding too thickly and his heart racing too fast like his body had been gearing up for something big, but _something _never came. Maybe it was inevitable then, when suddenly Blaine felt all of his frustrations bubbling forth, hungry and relentless and too long unsated by the mere clash of fists.

He snapped.

"What the fuck is this, Santana," he practically spat, the outburst having wound within from their first clash of fists. Blaine pulled off his gloves hastily and all but hurled them into the far corner of the room.

"Excuse me?"

"We can't… _you _can't just keep me here forever, doing this. Something's got to give! There has to be a plan, or a secret, or _something _you aren't telling me!"

"Whoa, slow down there Frodo! You don't have a magical ring to help you disappear if you push me too far…"

"And what happens then?" he countered. "What have I got to lose? Stop it with this _bullshit _snark, Santana, and give me some real answers!"

Santana sighed, looking down as she delicately removed her own gloves and walked them slowly over to the equipment heap. "If it's answers you're looking for," she said calmly, voice infuriatingly even, "I'm afraid you're going to have to pull them out of your own ass."

Blaine glared at her pointedly until she finally looked up and met his eyes.

"Fuck, Anderson. What exactly is it you want from me? You're alive, and you're safe for as long as I can manage it. I can't give you more than that."

His face fell as he took in her sincerity. "Fuck," he said. Energy draining all at once, he dropped to the floor, resting his forehead on folded knees. "Fuck!"

"I'm sorry," Santana said more softly.

"I can't… I just can't. This can't be _it_." Blaine was rambling now, speaking more to himself than to her. He looked up after a moment to find Santana still staring at him, an odd sort of pity on her face that felt so _wrong_ he almost questioned his sanity. She opened her mouth to speak when they were interrupted by a sharp knock on the wooden frame of the door. Blaine's head whipped around to find Sandy there, smirking at the image of Blaine balled up on the floor. Blaine stood, straightening himself out, and scowled.

Sandy turned away from him, moving to whisper something into Santana's ear while Blaine ducked his head and pretended not to listen. He heard her quietly dismiss Sandy when he was finished, and the man left immediately. Santana turned back to Blaine for a moment, shooting him a look he couldn't read, before quietly walking out of the room.

When Blaine followed her she spared him only a glance over her shoulder, but there was no mistaking that _this _look was a dirty one. Santana ignored Blaine's demands to know what was going on until he finally gave up, crossing his arms as he hurried after her and setting his jaw.

He hesitated when it became clear they were headed to the room he had first arrived in, but only for a moment. Blaine was sick of Santana's bullshit and her secrecy, even if some more rational part of his brain did know that he was in no place to demand anything from her. He was resolute.

He had barely stepped through the door, had not yet looked around when a voice cried out his name.

"Blaine!"

Swinging his head around, he saw Kurt standing in the corner next to a pretty blonde girl, both with their hands tied behind them. A guard stood with them as well, but thankfully one whom Blaine didn't recognize. Kurt looked dirty and tired and his clothes were in tatters, but Blaine had never before seen anything more beautiful.

"Kurt," he breathed, already rushing forward. He took Kurt in his arms, ignoring his bound hands, and pulled him close, kissing his face, then his mouth. Kurt returned the kiss eagerly, following Blaine's lips when he tried to pull away.

"Disgusting," Santana said, glaring at them from the doorway. Kurt eyed her with mild distrust, but Blaine focused on projecting his deepest glare, hoping it adequately conveyed the 'fuck you' he was attempting to communicate.

Santana merely scoffed at him, stepping further into the room. "Hummel," she said coldly, a hint of exasperation in her tone. "What the fuck am I supposed to do with you?"

Blaine watched as Kurt's eyes darkened, and though he knew it was useless he instinctively stepped in front of his soulmate, as if he could keep the taller man safe from Santana's hate.

To Blaine's surprise, she turned her attention instead to the guard. "Untie them and leave," she ordered.

"But ma'am…" the guard said weakly, eying the group of them with suspicion. "I don't think…"

"I don't pay you to think," Santana snapped.

Blaine watched in confusion as Kurt and then the girl next to him were freed of their bindings, the guard fumbling and clearly nervous as he worked and then made a hasty exit.

"What the hell is going on, Santana?" Blaine demanded, not sure whether to feel perplexed or angry.

"I'd like to know the same," Kurt's voice startled Blaine, as did the confidence within it.

"You're Santana?" the blonde said quietly, an odd look about her as she watched the other woman. Blaine stared at her, trying to figure that out, and Kurt raised an eyebrow at the girl before speaking again.

"Brittany, this is Santana Lopez, Head of Security, and my soulmate, Blaine Anderson. Santana," he nodded in her direction, face still cold, "this is Brittany Evans."

Now that he had heard the name, Blaine remembered her. He had met her briefly his first summer in Dalton, at a festival. His friend Wes had seemed rather enthralled by the girl and had eagerly whispered in his ear many tales of the Children of the Source, how their magic helped to keep the Source going strong.

He was about to say something but caught himself when he saw the expressions both girls' wore. There were tears in their eyes, and the look on Brittany's face could only be described as awe, while Santana looked almost fearful—a first in all the time Blaine had known her. Kurt was staring at them too, Blaine noticed, but appeared to have at least some idea of what was going on.

"Santana," Brittany whispered almost reverently. She stepped forward as if to embrace the other girl, or maybe just to reach out and touch her, but Santana threw her hands up in a clear indication to stop.

"No," she said, shaking her head furiously and backing towards the door. "No, I just… I can't." Then, abruptly, she turned and fled.

Brittany collapsed on the floor, tears streaming down her face as she hugged herself tight and rocked back and forth, Kurt dropping to her side to take her in his arms.

"She'll come around," Kurt told the broken girl, smoothing back her hair. "Just give it some time."

The blonde girl almost disappeared in his arms, crying into Kurt's shoulder while Blaine watched helplessly, still trying to piece this all together. "How did you know?" Blaine heard her ask, though the sound was muffled. "Is it because you're a dolphin?"

Kurt smiled sadly, looking away from Brittany to meet Blaine's eyes. "No sweetie. I recognized the look in your eyes from the moment I first met Blaine."

And finally, Blaine understood.

Brittany Evans was Santana's soulmate.

* * *

Santana didn't come back, but Terri appeared a good while later. Considering the crying girl with sympathy, she gently pried her from Kurt's arms and dried her tears, then announced that Brittany was to be given her own rooms and began guiding the girl towards the door.

"Wait," Blaine said, and Terri paused and looked back at him. "You said rooms, right? She's not going to a cell."

"I won't let anyone hurt her," Kurt said fiercely. He looked like he meant it, and Blaine couldn't help the shudder of pride and affection that ran through him. He'd never seen Kurt quite like this before, so strong and sure.

"A room, I promise," Terri addressed Blaine. "It's just down the hall from yours." She turned then to Kurt, studying him for a moment before finally offering, "No one's going to hurt her. She'll be safe."

Kurt nodded reluctantly. "What about me? Where do I go?"

Terri shrugged, turning back to Brittany and ushering her away.

Brittany hardly seemed to notice.

"Is that wise? We don't really know where they could be taking her…" Kurt questioned once they were alone, picking himself gracefully up off the hard floor and wincing as he flexed his legs.

"I don't think Santana will hurt her," Blaine said honestly.

"Yeah," Kurt stepped closer, until he was pressed right up against Blaine's chest. "I don't really think so, either. But she's different than when I knew her." He paused, laughing a little. "Well, maybe not so different, but the sass was never directed at me before."

He wound his arms around Blaine's neck, body almost melting against Blaine's own. Blaine held him tight, tighter. His mind was still a mess because _Kurt_. All he could do was breathe him in.

"She didn't hurt you," Kurt said finally, voice soft in Blaine's ear. "You're here. You're here, and you're whole, and you're _safe_."

"You're here," Blaine echoed dumbly. "You shouldn't be here, I wanted—I had hoped you'd stay _there_, where it's safe."

Kurt chuckled weakly. "Safe? What is safety, if I can't have you? Source, Blaine, I didn't know where you _were!_ You could have been dead, you could have been _anywhere_, do you even _know _what that felt like?"

Blaine cupped his head, marveling at the softness of Kurt's hair without its usual product. He pulled back just enough and kissed him. "Sorry," he whispered between their lips. "Sorry, I never meant to… I'm so sorry you had to go through that."

"It's ok now," Kurt told him. He stepped back, looked around. "I'd hardly call this ideal, but at least we're together."

Blaine smiled, catching his hand and tugging. "Come to my rooms. We really should talk."

Kurt looked at him then, looked into his eyes. Kurt's were _blue green perfect_, better than Blaine had remembered them in the long month they had been apart.

"Yes," Kurt said, his voice a little breathy. "But… can we wait to talk? I just… I really need to feel you, Blaine."

Could he run on his leg? Blaine was lucky he was even thinking enough to question it. "We can talk later," he assured, watching Kurt's eyes flutter shut as Blaine traced his fingers around Kurt's face.

They didn't run. Hands and arms and legs pressed impossibly close together, they quickly walked the entire way to Blaine's rooms.

* * *

When they got there, the world came to a sudden halt, Kurt staring at Blaine from where he was leaning up against the door he had closed behind them. Kurt was smiling at him coyly, a little desperate like Blaine felt, and Blaine didn't know whether to pull him to the bed or press him there against the wood.

Eventually, Kurt decided for him, stepping up against him and walking them back, back to fall on top of the mess of sheets Blaine had left there that morning.

"You don't make the bed," Kurt said, crawling up to fold himself against Blaine's chest like he could bury himself there, and in a way Blaine wished he could.

"No," Blaine said, straining up to kiss him, but Kurt was having none of it. "I'll bet you do."

"I do," Kurt agreed. He unfurled himself slowly, leaning back from where he was straddling Blaine's waist to peel off his own shirt. His skin was pale and flawless, better even than Blaine remembered save for a few smudges of dirt that had worked their way through rips in the fabric. Every instinct in him wanted to touch and so he did, smoothing his hands across the expanse of Kurt's chest, trailing them down his torso to grip at his waist and finally, _finally _tug him forward into a kiss.

Kurt gave in to it easily, half-falling onto Blaine's lips, tongue sweeping in to meet Blaine's almost immediately. His hands were spread apart, inching up Blaine's stomach and dragging Blaine's shirt with them, and only then did Blaine note how grimy his skin felt.

"I'm probably gross," he said against Kurt's mouth, the words breaking into a groan. "I—mmm—was boxing, before this."

Kurt pulled away then, looking down at Blaine with eyes that glittered with amusement. "And the guards were kind enough to stop and let me have a shower before they brought us in. Really, Blaine?"

He didn't wait for a response, diving back in, and Blaine happily twisted to help Kurt work off his shirt, wrapping his arms tightly around the other man as soon as he'd tossed it aside.

The skin of Kurt's neck tasted a little like sweat and mostly like earth but Blaine didn't care, squirming to move his mouth lower down Kurt's body from beneath him. When that proved more difficult than it was worth, he pushed Kurt off to the side of him, regretting the force when a little "oof" sound left Kurt's mouth upon impact but rolling onto him just the same.

"Blaine," Kurt said, all breath and sharpness where his nails dug into Blaine's back. "Always have to be in control."

"Not true," Blaine protested as he nuzzled against Kurt's stomach, delighting in the soft scratch of hair against his cheek. "It's just easier to devour you this way."

"That's not very fair to me," Kurt whined.

Blaine smiled at him, stretched up to take his mouth again, let himself fall down against the heat of Kurt's body. Kurt was so utterly beautiful beneath him, smooth and soft and pale where Blaine was coarse and dark. More than all of that, he was solid and real and present, whimpering unabashedly against Blaine's lips as Blaine rutted against him, the sound as reassuring as it was arousing.

He pulled away to rest his forehead against Kurt's own, looking down into his soulmate's eyes. "When I pictured our reunion, I must admit there were less clothes."

Kurt blinked, smiled at him sweetly, hand gripping tightly around the back of Blaine's head with long fingers threaded through his curls. "I only pictured you alive," he whispered.

Blaine kissed him then, softer, loving the feel of Kurt's hands stroking down his back as they moved to the front of his waist, loosening the string there and easing his pants down his legs, boxers catching to follow as they went. Kurt tackled his own pants next, the jeans a little more difficult to maneuver, and Blaine didn't want to stop touching him to help but he did when it was necessary.

And then it was just _them_, bare legs tangled and the sharp jut of Kurt's hip against his and the hard heat of their cocks, all pressed together and no power on Earth could keep Blaine still even though part of him wanted to stop and memorize this, treasure it in a way that was only possible after everything is almost lost.

Kurt moved with him, thrusting up the best he could with so much weight holding him down. He threw his head back and Blaine found his throat, taut white skin and the pulse of Kurt beneath Blaine's lips matching the beating of his own heart. Soon everything was hot and slick and frenzied and they were racing together, clutching each other fast and tight.

Kurt came first, wailing into Blaine's hair, and then the slide of it was a little easier and Blaine held Kurt there, fingers digging into his hips as he moaned his release into the crux of Kurt's neck. Kurt was already coming down, his fingers combing gently through Blaine's curls and his other arm wrapped tight around Blaine's back, keeping him close.

It soon became _sticky itchy cold_, the drying of their sweat causing both men to shiver, but still they lay there for a long time without moving.

Finally, Kurt carefully pried himself from Blaine's arms, pulling Blaine with him into the tiny adjoining bathroom. Kurt fixed the water in the shower and they both crammed into the small space, sharing the hot spray as they washed. When they were finished Blaine hurried back into the room, water dripping all around him, to grab two fluffy towels and spare pairs of underwear and pajamas from the chest of drawers, hurrying back to loop a towel around Kurt's shoulders and drag him forward into a kiss, inhaling the clean scent of his skin before pulling away to dry himself.

When they were clean and dry and dressed again they crawled under the blankets, huddling together in the warmth despite the chill long having passed. Blaine watched Kurt, memorized his face as he pressed his lips against Blaine's shoulder and then peered up at him, eyes the truest blue and so earnestly full of love, it stole Blaine's breath away.

"Do you want to talk now?" he asked quietly.

Blaine smiled at him, kissed his nose because he couldn't help himself and curled his arms around Kurt's back. "Sleep now. You must be exhausted. Talking can wait until you've gotten some rest."

Kurt's hand closed over his waist and he tried to smile back but yawned instead, as if the mere suggestion of sleep made his body suddenly realize its own fatigue. "Yeah, okay," he murmured, snuggling into Blaine gratefully. But just when he was settled, his eyes opened once more.

"Blaine?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

Blaine wondered if it was possible for the human heart to physically swell. "I know," he said softly. "I love you too."

Kurt fell asleep with a smile on his face, so peaceful there in Blaine's arms. It may have been minutes or hours or days before Blaine joined him, too caught up in the image before him to give easily into sleep.

* * *

When he woke Kurt was still fast asleep, and Blaine really needed to pee but he didn't want to leave him. Kurt's legs were hopelessly intertwined in Blaine's own and when he tried to carefully pull them away Kurt stirred, mumbling a little and stretching as he began to wake.

"I'll be right back," Blaine said low into his ear.

He finished as quickly as he could, returning to find Kurt sitting up in bed, blankets pulled around his waist and a sleepy smile on his face.

"Good morning," he offered, reaching out for Blaine as he walked back towards the bed.

Crawling onto it, Blaine settled himself behind Kurt, pulling the other man back to rest against his chest. It was awkward because Kurt was taller but it felt right, and Kurt leaned against him and didn't complain. "I'm not sure it is morning. Are you hungry?"

"Yeah, now that you mention it. They didn't exactly bother to feed us on the way here."

"They usually send me my meals, but Santana's been cool with me raiding the kitchens…"

"Can we talk first?" Kurt twisted around to look at him. "There's just a lot of heavy stuff to go through, and we've put it off, and I don't think I can eat until things feel more… settled."

Blaine forced his thoughts away from the gnawing hunger of his own stomach and offered Kurt a reassuring smile. "Yes, of course. What would you like to discuss first?"

Kurt sighed, looked down at his hands and was silent for a moment. Blaine watched him as he waited, anticipating and dreading what was likely coming. "I guess what I really want to know is: why are you here?"

"Well," Blaine began, wondering how to say this. He didn't want to lie, but he wasn't sure what was true. "I don't know, really. I have my theories…"

"Mike said that maybe you planned it." Kurt interrupted, his voice quiet and careful. "I didn't believe him, and then we heard you were here and I thought _it can't be true_. Please tell me that it isn't."

"Kurt," Blaine said, dumbfounded. He shifted a bit until he could comfortably take the other man's face in his hands, make Kurt _look_ at him. "Of course I didn't plan it. I would _never_ do that to you. I swear it."

He could read the relief in Kurt's eyes, feel it in the sag of his shoulders. "Thank Source," he murmured, dipping his head to kiss Blaine. He pulled back quickly, met Blaine's eyes again. "I didn't believe him," he repeated.

"I know you didn't," Blaine said earnestly, pressing their foreheads together for a few moments before resuming his prior position. "So you know I told you… the barrier, it keeps out people with ill intent," he began cautiously.

Kurt nodded against his chest. "I know, Mike mentioned that too."

"I wondered, maybe… my brother? I'm not a bad person, Kurt, and I promise I've never planned to hurt him. But you have no idea what he did, how easily he betrayed me. I can't deny that somewhere within me is something that wants to make him feel that, too. It's disgusting and base and I hate it, but it's there. I can't help it."

"It's okay, Blaine. I… understand more than you know. Please don't be mad, but a few days after I woke up there without you, I went to see Cooper. Mike didn't want to take me but I insisted. We talked; he told me his side of the story."

Blaine inhaled sharply. "I see," he said simply, not trusting himself with more.

"I think you should talk to him," Kurt pressed. "I'm not saying that what he did was right, Blaine, not at all. But it's… different than what you might think."

"Why don't you just tell me then?" Blaine's voice was cold, the words coming out before he could rework them.

"It's… not my place," Kurt answered softly.

"It wasn't your place to speak with him to begin with!"

Kurt pulled away from him then, just a little, folding his arms around himself. Blaine took them and righted them again, wrapping Kurt up in his own. "I'm sorry," he said into Kurt's hair. "I shouldn't have snapped. I didn't mean it. This is a touchy subject for me."

Kurt nodded, didn't move away.

"Let's save the rest of this for later? Cooper, I mean. There are more pressing things."

"Okay," Kurt whispered. "There's just… one more thing you should know."

He took a deep breath, pausing to turn and look at Blaine, who waited patiently for him to continue. "He's here. Or he probably is, by now. He wanted to come, to help find you. The resistance didn't like it, but I may have… swayed their opinion."

Blaine closed his eyes tightly, willing himself to stay calm. "Okay," he said when he could manage it. "I think we should change the subject now. I'd like to hear about why _you're _here."

He could almost feel Kurt relaxing in his arms, his voice when he spoke easier, more matter-of fact—more the Kurt that Blaine knew. "I should think that's rather obvious. I woke up; you weren't there. That was far from okay. So I came to find you. Really, the whole resistance did, though it's part of a larger plan. They're all set up at a safe house about a two days walk from here."

"Okay," Blaine said slowly, piecing the information together and trying to understand. "But how are you _here_? You and Brittany?"

"Well…" Kurt began, and it was obvious to Blaine that he was stalling a little. "I sort of got tired of waiting there. It had been _weeks _Blaine, and nothing was moving forward! We sat around the house bickering and making signs and discussing the same politics over and over until I couldn't stand it anymore. So I decided to come and find you myself."

"I take it that didn't go entirely according to plan?"

"I'm here, aren't I?" Kurt said defensively, then deflated. "But no, getting caught was not part of the plan. Brittany was hiding us—that's why I brought her along—but by chance, a couple of guards wandered too close while we were packing up camp in the morning. They heard us, and then they could see us—I guess that's how the whole magic thing works—and so we're here. So far, I'd say it worked out a lot better than I'd hoped."

Blaine sighed, rubbing his hand across his face. "I'm sorry, but it was foolish, Kurt. You had no idea what would happen when you got here. You could be lying beaten in one of the cells in the basement right now—and yes, there's several there, I saw them. They even have people in a few of them. Or worse, you could be dea —" he choked on the word, not wanting to even think it.

"I knew that you were here and were alive, or had been several weeks ago. I knew that Santana was in charge of this place. I had hoped… well… we were good friends once, she and I, back in high school. I was hoping that would mean something."

"It did," Blaine said. "It's the only reason I'm alive."

"And I'm so grateful," Kurt took Blaine's hand in his and squeezed it gently. "But she was such a bitch, back there…"

"She's okay. Really confusing though. We had just been fighting, actually. I probably put her in a mood."

"What do you think she'll do with us?"

"I don't know," Blaine told him honestly. "I don't think she'll hurt us, but I know it's been risky for her, me being here. Some of the guards are beginning to talk. Now with you, and _Brittany_, and I know she doesn't really approve of our relationship…"

"I'll talk to her," Kurt promised. "I'll figure out where we stand."

"Sounds good," Blaine agreed.

Silence settled between them, and Blaine wondered if it was too soon to bring up eating again. He decided to risk it.

"So, about that food…"

"Yeah," Kurt smiled at him. "Let's go."

They climbed off the bed, linking hands and heading for the door, when Blaine stopped suddenly, Kurt halting a few steps in front of him.

"What is it?" Kurt asked, concern etching his face. "What's wrong?"

"I'm really proud of you, you know," Blaine told him, feeling tears prickling at his eyes. "You coming here, it was stupid. And it wasn't what I would want for you. But I honestly didn't think you had it in you, and knowing how strong you are, how hard you fought for me… it only makes me love you more."

Kurt's face softened, and he tugged on their hands until Blaine was wrapped up in a hug. "I could find all the strength in the world within me if I needed it for you, Blaine," he said softly into his ear. He pulled away, expression giddy. "Unless you keep starving me. Food, Anderson."

Blaine grinned back. "I'm on it," he swore.

Together, they ventured forth in search of the kitchens.

* * *

_**A/N:**_I hope you all enjoyed this chapter, the longest to date and probably long anticipated! This story is a little more than half-way through at this point. Please review and let me know what you think!

Happy Easter :-)


	9. Interlude Two: Wonderwall

_**A/N:**_ This one if from Santana's POV, and it was a challenge. I really hope you like it!

Song is "Wonderwall" by Oasis. A perfect fit, if I do say so myself.

Shout out to Purple Pen, my incredibly supportive Beta!

* * *

_**Interlude II: Wonderwall**_

Santana Lopez had enjoyed a happy childhood and a fairly ordinary one at that. Like many other little girls, she dreamed primarily of two things: finding true love and obtaining wealth, and more importantly all the trappings that came with it. She wanted a big, fancy house with an indoor pool and servants catering to her every whim. Santana wouldn't be completely selfish, of course—she would gladly share all of it with her soulmate.

Then she turned thirteen and learned that dreams don't often come true. Some dreams are ripped from your very skin, and others necessitate a constant battle, fighting and sacrificing and clawing your way to the top.

That year was the hardest Santana ever had to live through, but it was also an important benchmark in her life. It was the year she grew up and left childish dreams behind. It was the year she set a course for her life, the year she made her own rules.

Rule Number One: Santana Lopez doesn't want things she can't have. Wanting things that you can't have makes you weak.

Rule Number Two: Santana Lopez is not a good person, but she is a person with integrity. She will mean what she says and be what you see.

Rule Number Three: Santana Lopez is a fighter.

* * *

It took two days: two days of trying and failing to ignore what was going on, of pretending that Brittany (who was dead, had been _dead_ but was suddenly here) wasn't a few floors and doors and hallways away from her. When it became clear that disregarding reality wasn't going to work, she decided instead to focus on Kurt. Kurt was here too, had been her friend once, could maybe be her friend again. It might be nice to have something easy and familiar to sink into for a little while. Someone to talk to, even if she had to talk around almost everything she truly felt and thought.

Resigned, she headed for Anderson's room.

When she burst through the door, Santana was greeted with the sight of the two men cuddling and kissing on the bed. At least they were fully clothed. She rolled her eyes and cleared her throat loudly.

"Get out, lover-boy. I need to have a chat with Hummel."

Both men turned abruptly to stare at her, but neither moved.

"Excuse me?" Blaine said finally. "This is _my _room."

She crossed her arms and chuckled darkly. "Seriously? This is _my _house and you are both _my _prisoners. I said 'get out'. I won't ask nicely again."

Santana watched as Kurt looked at Blaine expectedly, like he was waiting for the other man to make a move. Blaine was too busy glaring at her with distrust to really notice.

She threw her hands up in the air, already exasperated. "By the Source, I'm not going to hurt your boy-toy, Anderson! I promise he'll be back good as new and ready to play within the hour."

Kurt was looking at her now, expression neutral, but he soon turned back to Blaine. Santana watched as he gently touched the other man's arm, then turned Blaine's chin until he was looking into Kurt's eyes. "It's okay," she heard him whisper, just loud enough for her to hear.

Somehow, the exchange seemed more intimate than anything Santana had witnessed between them thus far. It suddenly became a struggle to maintain the carefully haughty expression she always wore, and she swallowed thickly against the lump forming in her throat.

Blaine was standing now, shooting one last suspicious glance between Santana and Kurt. He made his way to the door but paused just short of it, about a foot away from her. He turned and looked her in the eyes, his face resolute.

"If you hurt him…"

Santana scoffed and fought off another eye roll. "Goodbye, Blanderson," she said impatiently, stepping forward and pushing him forcibly from the room before slamming the door closed behind him.

Satisfied that he wasn't coming back, she spun around to find Kurt sitting up on the bed, glaring at her.

"You don't have to be so hard on him, you know. It's not easy for him to leave me after what we've been through. I'm shocked you've managed it at all; it must mean he trusts you on some level."

Santana sighed, moving closer to him and stopping at the edge of the bed. "We've reached a sort of… truce, during his stay," she shared reluctantly.

Kurt looked down at the bed, fingering the pattern of the quilt, then up to meet her eyes. "Thank you," he said softly, "for not hurting him."

Santana shrugged, forced a smile that _might_ have been half-way genuine. It was hard to tell these days, even for her. "He was yours," she said simply.

Kurt had never needed big words or long-winded explanations to understand her.

"Yeah," Kurt smiled too, but she could tell it wasn't for her. "Is, um… is it safe for you? Letting us… _be_, like this? I don't want to put you in any danger, Santana."

"It's… I've got it under control. Don't worry about that." _She_ was a little worried about it, actually, but for right now the situation was manageable. "Look, Kurt. I know…" she stopped, then took a deep breath. "I know it's been a long time for us, but… can we just pretend that this is high school again? It's… I need…" she trailed off, unable to find the right words. Santana Lopez was _never_ this inarticulate, hated herself for being this vulnerable.

But when she forced herself to look at Kurt again, his eyes were full of that old, familiar compassion and understanding, and she knew it would be okay.

He scooted over, patting the bed beside him. "Come up here," Kurt said encouragingly when she didn't move.

"You and Anderson have had _sex_ here, I can smell it," she commented, wrinkling her nose and glaring at the bed in disgust before climbing up to settle against him.

Kurt laughed.

And then it was silent.

"Will you tell me about her?" Santana asked, her voice so soft she hardly heard it herself.

Kurt sighed, reached out to stroke her hair. Santana flinched at the touch before giving into it. It had been years since she'd allowed anyone to touch her with any sort of intimacy.

"What do you want to know?"

"Everything," she answered without thinking, and in one sinking moment the fear became heavier than the want. "Nothing. I don't _know_."

She wondered if he knew her even now enough to sense the weight of that, to know how lost and uncertain she really was. Santana Lopez didn't want things she couldn't have, had lived it and breathed it and recited it like a mantra for the past ten years.

Brittany was hers. But she couldn't _have _Brittany. She'd crossed too many lines already, let her loyalty take her too far.

"Brittany is… special. In so many ways, Santana. Did you know she's a Daughter of the Source?"

"I don't even know what a 'Daughter of the Source' is, Kurt."

"Oh." He said, sounding surprised. "It's kind of like she can channel the Source, you know, the power that gives us our soulmates? She has it _inside _of her. But she's so much more than that, too. Brittany is kind and funny—in her own way—and so innocent, it's heartbreaking sometimes."

Santana snorted. "That's really saying something, coming from you."

She laughed when he slapped her playfully on the arm, catching herself a moment too late. It was nice how happy and normal she'd felt for a few seconds, allowing herself to get caught up in Kurt's pretty words when she couldn't afford to allow herself anything at all.

It was dangerous sitting here, confiding in Kurt like this as she used to when they were kids. But she was already over-sharing, anything _at all_ was over-sharing…

"I thought I'd lost her," she said, cursing the brokenness of her voice with every word. "I thought…"

"I always thought you were a no-name." Kurt interrupted. "You were always so bitter, so unhappy, even the few times it was you and me and the others. Even the few times someone managed to make you smile or laugh…"

"I wish I'd been a no-name," Santana said before she reminded herself that she didn't, not really. She'd be just as alone then, and she wouldn't be here, the queen of a cold stone palace with her many material desires on-demand and much of the world under her control. Or it would be, soon. That was the plan. She was a fighter.

She sat up suddenly, smoothing down her hair. "I can't do this," she said, more to herself than to Kurt. "I can't let you in, and with you two being here, it'll all go to hell…"

Santana stood up, began to pace.

"It'll be okay," Kurt said, watching her warily from the bed. "Once you get to know Brittany…"

"_Source_, what kind of fairy tale have I brought you into!? I can't 'get to know' Brittany, Kurt. It's not as simple as you and Blaine, all cozy and together under my protection. I don't have anyone to protect _me_. I only have these walls and all my rules…"

"Have you thought about how _she _feels in all of this?" There was a little edge now in Kurt's voice, enough to fuel the fire. "Brittany won't understand, Santana. When you ran away from her, it broke her heart!"

She froze then, unwilling to hear or process Kurt's words. Squeezing her eyes shut, she remembered: _breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out._ She knew how to do this. Santana was always in control, she just needed to trust that. She had never let herself down before.

Opening her eyes again, she fixed Kurt with her usual empty glare. "You need to leave. Both of you. I'll say you ran away, or better yet that I killed you. Just get out."

Kurt stood slowly, eyes boring into hers, and walked carefully towards her, stopping mere inches from her face. She could hear his every breath: _breathe in, breathe out_.

"You can shut me out, Santana, but you can't turn your back on her. Give her a chance! Have dinner together, or… or take her for a picnic outside. Brittany would love that!"

"I'm going to leave now," Santana told him carefully. "I'll give you three days to be out of my house. Secretly, please, as much as possible. Take Brittany with you."

"Santana…"

"Goodbye, Kurt."

Holding her head high and mask securely in place, Santana left the room.

* * *

It had always been easy before to dismiss Brittany Evans, the girl whose name had imprinted itself onto Santana's palm and into her heart ten years ago. The girl who had died only weeks later, as far as Santana was concerned. _Don't want things you can't have_, Santana told herself every night, and it had always worked.

Until now.

Now the only words echoing through her head were an endless repetition of _it broke her heart_. Now, when hours into the night she finally won the battle and settled into a fitful sleep, her dreams were haunted by a perfect, pale face. The girl's eyes were like the little blue flowers Santana used to pick as a child—just as pretty and just as fragile. Santana's tortured mind conjured an image of her thirteen-year-old self, crushing the delicate petals in her hand…

* * *

Santana avoided the others like the plague after that, only narrowly dodging confrontation with the hobbit on a few occasions, as he appeared to have taken up a personal quest to hunt her down. Her eyes and ears around the building were ever watchful, however, and she gleaned enough information to know they were tentatively making plans as ordered.

Three days. Such a short amount of time, but it seemed an eternity to her—held captive in a prison of her own making, driven mad by the conflicting desires of her mind and heart.

By day three Santana had to see her, told herself that another glimpse couldn't hurt—could be healing and closure—even as her mind screamed the truth of her deceit.

Brittany looked every bit as sweetly innocent asleep as she had awake, stretched and curled around a spare pillow with wispy clumps of yellow hair fanning around her face like a halo. Santana was close enough to see clearly as her back rose and fell, hear each intake of breath, and suddenly she wanted more than anything to press a hand there between her shoulder blades, feel the warmth of her skin through her nightgown and move with the slightest shift of her body.

Suddenly Brittany's eyes opened, and Santana gasped. Brittany didn't move, didn't acknowledge her, only watched as she stood there, begging her feet to move when they seemed stubbornly glued to the floor.

They stared at one another in silence for an endless moment, then finally Brittany began to unfurl herself, stretching languidly and yawning before turning back to consider her. "Santana?" she said tentatively, looking very much like she wanted to do or say something but wasn't sure what would be welcome.

"Have lunch with me?" Santana blurted out, and where the hell did _that _come from?

Brittany blinked at her, perplexed. "I…"

"The back patio, at noon. There's a lovely view of the gardens. I'll send Terri for you."

Brittany's mouth opened as if she meant to speak, a gleam of hope lighting in her eyes that made Santana fiercely afraid.

She was speeding out the door before the blonde girl could utter a reply, leaden feet as heavy as her heart, but pounding away just as quickly.

* * *

Santana survived the next few hours by allowing herself to operate on auto-pilot and refusing to think too deeply about anything—not why she was suddenly giving in to the urge to spend time with Brittany, nor why she was being so fussy and particular about everything from the menu to her own appearance, and certainly not what all of this could mean.

She allowed herself one tense, panicked moment to reconsider, hiding in the doorway to the patio and staring at Brittany, who was already seated alone at the table there, looking pensive and so pretty in a bright floral sundress. Taking a deep breath, she shook it off and approached.

Everything went as planned, perfect down to the last detail, but Santana didn't taste the food or spare a thought for the elegant spread of the table. She didn't—_couldn't_—worry herself over maintaining her usual defenses, or allow her mind to fixate on the implications of sinking too deeply into the pleasure of Brittany's company. She wasn't capable of any of these things, because Brittany was so purely and wholly captivating.

Brittany was magic.

The entire occasion was like a fanciful return to her long-repressed childhood fantasies, a dangerous and easy slip back to feelings of simple contentment and faith in the goodness of the world around her. Brittany's laughter was musical, her conversation light-hearted and childlike and whimsical, her eyes sparkling and _happy_ and trusting.

Later, in the darkest hours of the night, Santana would lay alone in bed and weep for the false hope of it all, the intoxicating innocence and beauty of this perfect girl and the loss of the last of her own gullible belief that she wouldn't give in. And more than all of these—the _fear_.

It was a sudden and jarring turn in their discussion when Brittany looked up at her with sad eyes and the barest of frowns, and asked: "why are you sending me away?"

Santana stared at her for a long moment, mouth gaping open but unable to speak.

"Kurt told me we had to leave tonight. He said you asked us to go, that it wouldn't be safe for you if we stayed."

Santana fumbled, reached blindly for the blonde girl's hand and almost dropped it in shock when she felt the smooth slide of Brittany's skin beneath her fingers. "Stay. Please stay."

"I want to," Brittany said, looking down at the table. "But Kurt said—"

"He's wrong. I can make it safe. I _will _make it safe. Stay."

She expected Brittany to ask why, to demand an explanation for all of this that Santana wasn't ready to give. But Brittany was perfect, easy and gentle and shining and giving. She didn't seem to need to take, didn't seem to consider or even know to demand a justification for this cruel twist of fate that she was rightfully due.

"Okay," she said, smiling in a way that made the world seem full of song and dance.

Brittany picked up on her former topic of choice as if she never left it, telling Santana about the rabbits she raised back home and how they would turn different colors if she fed them the right flowers, and did Santana think that she could make a rainbow bunny if she tried?

"I have to go," Santana said, hating the words as they fell from her lips. "There are some… things… I need to take care of."

"Okay," Brittany said quietly.

"Would you like to take a walk with me tomorrow?" Santana asked, already wanting to see her smile again. "I know a park nearby, it's pretty secluded…"

"I would love that."

They stared at each other in silence for a few long moments, and then Santana reluctantly dragged herself to her feet.

Brittany looked up at her, cornflower blue eyes both hopeful and hesitant in a way that tugged at Santana's heart. "Could I maybe… hug you? Please, Santana?"

Santana's mind was screaming no even as she knew she would agree, aware that this small act might be the catalyst to an inevitable surrender, yet ignorant of all that it could be at the same time. Her posture relaxed and she opened her arms a little in invitation, frowning at Brittany as she waited for her to react. It took only a moment before the blonde was sinking into her embrace, Santana's arms folding around her slowly and then keeping her there, feeling a gentle smile curling unwittingly on her own face.

Holding Brittany, as it turned out, was _everything_.

* * *

Santana did have important business to attend to that afternoon, but it would have to wait a bit longer.

"Sandy," she addressed the man in front of her. "I need a list of all the guards in my security detail and where they're assigned. I also need you to find a way to determine who is most loyal to me."

"Ma'am? I'm not sure how…"

Santana gritted her teeth. "Are you going to remember our rule about questions, or do I need to reconsider my decision to allow a known drug dealer to slip through the system…"

"I'll be on that straight away, ma'am."

"Right," Santana said, smirking. "I bet you will."

* * *

While she waited for information from Sandy, Santana grudgingly went to find Blaine. She wasn't sure what to say, especially since he'd undoubtedly be unhappy with her, but some type of communication was a necessary evil.

She checked his room first. After listening at the door to ensure there was no indication of unsavory activity, Santana pushed it open without bothering to knock. Blaine wasn't there, but Kurt was, sprawled out on the bed and fast asleep. She barely spared him a glance before leaving again, relieved that she wouldn't be confronting them both at once.

After searching over half the house Santana's patience was beginning to wear thin, but just as she'd decided to send Terri to find him instead, she came across Blaine in the library, reading intently from what appeared to be one of the older reference books. Approaching him, she was about to speak when he beat her to it.

"There's quite a lot of information here about the history of the Source—and the initial development of rehabilitation," Blaine said without looking up.

The comment caught her off-guard, but she decided to humor it. "Yes, well, someone in a position such as mine needs to be well-informed."

"But they don't teach this in the schools," Blaine continued, finally looking up at her, his expression strangely blank. "They're too afraid to make it public knowledge."

Santana sighed, moving closer to seat herself in a chair across the table from where Blaine was still sitting. "That's right," she acknowledged.

"But if you know, if you understand _why_, how can you…?"

He was so sincerely curious, and for the first time Santana felt something building within her, creeping consciously and guiltily to settle in her mind, a feeling that she had shut herself off from long ago—regret. "I didn't come here to have this conversation," she said plainly. "You have plans to leave tonight?"

Blaine raised his oddly-shaped eyebrows. "Yes," he conceded.

"You won't be taking Brittany with you. I'm taking her to the park tomorrow; it seems she's really looking forward to it."

Blaine's mouth dropped open in surprise, but he quickly shut it and composed himself. "That's… unexpected." He said carefully. Santana could see it in his eyes, the slightest flicker of hope, could tell that he was fighting it. "I don't think Kurt will feel comfortable leaving her here alone, not after the way you treated him."

Santana had to bite back an insult, her usual defensiveness rising swiftly. She knew it would only lead to a deeper conversation that she wasn't ready for, and she knew too that Kurt was justified in feeling that way.

She stood up slowly, focused on projecting her usual air of control. She felt Blaine's eyes follow her all the way to the door.

Santana turned around when she reached the doorway, regarding him only briefly. "Then stay," she said quickly, forcing the words out before she had time to reconsider.

* * *

Santana stayed up late into the night, reviewing the file Sandy had put together for her and doing her best to reassign people accordingly. The anxiety didn't leave her completely when she finally finished and went to bed, but she was satisfied at least that she'd done the very best she could to surround herself with only the most trustworthy of guards. She trusted further that the moment there was the slightest hint of betrayal, she would see that person personally taken care of.

* * *

It was a lovely day for a walk, and Santana was finding Brittany's company just as delightful as the day before. It was a struggle, though, because the very thing Santana had been most grateful for mere hours ago was increasingly more evident—Brittany was not the type to push. No demand for any kind of explanation or future commitment. She'd barely reacted when she'd caught Santana's hand in hers, turning it over to examine the blankness of her palm where by all rights there should have been Brittany's name.

The blonde had merely stared at it for a moment, eyes soft and sad and compassionate, and then pressed a gentle kiss there that burned pleasantly against Santana's skin.

Brittany wouldn't push, and Santana really, really needed her to.

"I feel like I owe you something," Santana said, voice raw as she unintentionally interrupted Brittany's happy chatter. It was probably rude, but she hadn't heard a word the girl was saying for at least the past five minutes.

"San," Brittany stopped, looked at her with so much _affection_ that it physically hurt. "It's okay."

Very little was actually okay, Santana knew, but she wasn't about to say as much. For starters, nobody had called her "San" since she was a little girl. Nobody had been brave enough to try out a nickname, she supposed, or maybe nobody had been able to see her that way, as somebody friendly and approachable. Not even Kurt, not even her other grade school friends. She had been careful to make it that way, had deliberately crafted her own reputation. Santana had _thrilled_ at the whispered murmurs of "Satan" that sometimes followed at her back.

Now—suddenly and inexplicably—it was _not _okay.

"I need to tell you," Santana said almost frantically. The ground beneath her feet was rapidly losing solidity, her knees weak and she was sliding. She was going down, and _Source_, what would be waiting at the bottom?

But Brittany was there, hands taking both her wrists, voice sweet and face in focus while the rest of the world was beginning to blur.

Santana felt herself being led, being gently pushed to settle onto something—a bench, it must be a bench. Brittany's hands returned to hers and she gripped them too tight, taking a moment to remember: _breathe in, breathe out._

"I'm listening," Brittany said.

And miraculously, Santana started to talk.

Santana's life had been a long stream of successes, one after another that she proudly shared with anyone who would listen.

She told Brittany a very different story.

She told Brittany the story of a little girl who had dreamed big of the finest things and the deepest love, who was enchanted by the world around her as much as others were enchanted by the girl herself.

She told her about the girl's thirteenth birthday; about waking up to find that by some twist of luck, she'd gotten her soulmate's name almost immediately. The girl thought it was the most beautiful name in the world, had traced it endlessly and stared at it longingly before tearing through the house in her eagerness to find her parents, and to share her joy with them.

Santana stared at their joined hands.

She described to Brittany in detail the look of nausea that overtook her mother's face, the look of paralyzing fear on her father's.

She told her about the trip to the marking office, about the big white van that came for her the next day. About narrow beds and terrifying videos and people that were made of stone, people that ripped away dreams. About the pain and the screaming and the pressure that never eased.

"And then the girl died. She welcomed it, because they made it so good and so _easy_ to give in. They offered her power and wealth, if she surrendered. They promised an end to all the hurt, told her she could go home, that it would all be better.

The next day she was reborn, and she was one of them. And her palm was smooth and perfect, and she didn't ache anymore, and she didn't _need_ anymore. She was something new, something better, and it was all thanks to them. They'd won her allegiance."

Santana looked back up at Brittany, saw the girl's tears and marveled at her own. It had been ten years since Santana cried.

She lifted shaky hands to the blonde girl's face, wiping at the wetness there before framing it in her hands, looking into Brittany's eyes and speaking the words that she was most terrified to say.

"Until now."

* * *

They didn't talk as they made their way back to the mansion, Santana dismissing the guard that had been trailing carefully behind them as soon as they stepped through the door. Brittany didn't protest or comment when Santana led her straight to her rooms, only sank happily against Santana's body when Santana kissed her the moment they were fully alone.

Kissing Brittany was like breathing air after spending far too long underwater; Brittany hummed into the kiss and wrapped slender arms around Santana's neck and the warmth of her was like sunshine. Santana was blossoming, no longer hiding in the dark.

They ended up on the bed somehow, bodies spread and naked and always touching. Brittany's skin was milk-white against the dark sheets and it seemed there were miles of freckles—too many for Santana to kiss them all—but Brittany laughed when she tried and Santana didn't ever want the sound to stop.

Nothing stopped. They carried on for minutes, hours, maybe days. There was warmth and happiness and endless, breathless pleasure and Santana wanted more than anything for it to go on forever.

When they had contented themselves they lay together, Santana curling around Brittany's body and resting her head on the taller girl's shoulder, fingers stroking gently across her stomach.

"Have you had other lovers, Brittany?"

"Yes," Brittany answered after a moment, voice soft. "A lot. I'm sorry, Santana—I didn't understand at the time and I—I liked it. But then my grandmother found out and she told me what it meant. I haven't since, I swear!"

For a long time, Santana didn't speak. When she did, her voice was strained. "I have too, so many. I knew what it meant, but I didn't care. I didn't care about you." She lifted up a little, turning to meet the other girl's eyes. "I care now, Brit. They tried to keep us apart, but you still found me. I promise you, whatever it takes, that I'll never let them come between us again." She found Brittany's hand, squeezed it in her own. "We're going to change the World."

* * *

_**A/N:**_ First of all, for those of you who might have wanted it, I apologize for the lack of graphic femslash. I went back and forth on how explicit to be, and in the end this is what felt right.

Please review! It's such an important motivating factor for me, and it really helps me to know if I'm on the right (or wrong) track. It can be really discouraging to not receive feedback, so I appreciate each and every one of you who take the time to leave some for me :-)


	10. Chapter Eight: Over My Head

**_A/N: _**I know it's been forever, and I'm sincerely sorry. The good news is that this story is nearly complete now: I'm currently writing the last chapter, though there will be an epilogue after that. This story is my main (writing) priority until it's completion.

Title song is by The Fray. A lot happens here, I think, so enjoy the chapter and please leave some feedback!

* * *

**_Chapter Eight: Over My Head_**

To say that Blaine was highly skeptical of Santana's change of heart would be an understatement. He flat-out didn't buy it. Kurt, on the other hand, had accepted her proclamation completely with only a few discerning glances shared between them, and Blaine couldn't help but feel a little irritated that his soulmate was capable of such naiveté in a situation that could potentially pose a very real danger.

It didn't help that Kurt couldn't—or wouldn't—explain to Blaine _why _he was so easily convinced that Santana was sincere.

"You don't know her like I do, Blaine," Kurt said, shrugging his shoulders. "Please just trust me on this."

Blaine argued for a little while, half-heartedly. He pleaded with Kurt and tried to warn him about the risks that came with trusting too easily. But Kurt was pure of heart and could see only the good; it was one of the many reasons why Blaine loved him. Eventually kisses and the now familiar warmth of Kurt's arms around him melted away the last of Blaine's resolve.

What they couldn't change was Blaine's suspicion, his growing unease and anxiety. Every morning he dined with Kurt, Santana, and Brittany (who Blaine could see was inherently sweet and honest, but sadly perhaps even more gullible than Kurt). The four would talk about the resistance, try to make plans or at least plot their next move. The others seemed convinced that the best course of action would be for Santana to "come out," so to speak, when the presidential campaign began in a few short weeks; Blaine thought it was far too much of a gamble.

Then one morning, Santana's "suggestions" went a bit too far.

"So I've been thinking, Blainers, about how we could get your little group on board," she said casually while buttering her toast. "I think you should be the one to do it."

Blaine dropped his fork as his mouth fell open, hardly able to contain the sudden wave of shock and anger that blew through him. The _gall _of this woman…

"I don't think that would be wise," he managed through clenched teeth.

Kurt noticed him tensing and reached out a hand to gently cover Blaine's own, but Santana continued on as if he hadn't spoken.

"I wouldn't send you alone, of course. You and Kurt could go together—you'd have to. He and Brit are the only ones who know where the place is."

"Then send Brittany," Blaine retorted. "She's a daughter of the Source, she could get there undetected. Kurt and I would have no such protection."

Santana laughed. She _laughed_. "Oh, there's no way I'm sending her out there alone! No, Brit needs to stay with me. You've got the best chance of convincing them anyway, once they hear that you've been here this whole time and I haven't harmed you. No?"

She looked up at him on the last word, finally daring to meet his eyes, and he could read the challenge within them. Blaine felt his entire body flair to life as he stood abruptly, throwing Kurt's hand off of his own and slamming his fists back down on the table.

"Is this a game to you?" He demanded.

"Blaine…"

"No, Kurt, why can't you see that this woman is **_crazy_**!" Blaine rounded on Santana. "Do you really care about any of us, about this cause? Do you care about anything but _her_?" He spit the word, gesturing wildly towards Brittany.

Santana was still staring at him, expression unchanged, but Kurt was at his side in an instant, once again saying Blaine's name. His gentle hands closed around Blaine's shoulders, but Blaine could barely feel them.

"Is water going to come out of his blow-hole soon?" Brittany whispered towards Santana.

"I've had enough." Blaine declared, grabbing at his napkin and attempting to hurl it across the room. It fluttered softly back to the table not a foot away.

"Blaine…" Kurt tried again.

"Enough," Blaine repeated, turning for one last look at his soulmate's crestfallen face before he stormed out of the room.

* * *

The courtyard was quiet and peaceful this early in the morning. It was probably that way almost any time of day, Blaine supposed, but there something about the low-risen sun and the frequent tweeting of birds, the rustling of animals settling in the bushes and the gentle breeze, that provided just the type of calm he desperately needed right now.

Blaine had never felt so trapped—not when he was first captured and taken to prison, nor when he had woken, bound and sore, in the back of an unfamiliar vehicle, and not even during those first long, lonely weeks at the mansion. He had Kurt now, yes, but what could he do? He had no power here, and even his own soulmate seemed to be against him. He wasn't alone, but there was no one on his side.

"I thought you might be here," the voice startled him, and he nearly shrank back on instinct as Santana appeared a few feet in front of him.

She looked so humble now—as innocent as he had ever seen her—and it was difficult, for a moment, to match the image before him with the Santana in his mind. The Santana who had been his enemy, then nearly a friend, and now, it seemed, was an enemy once more. Maybe it was Kurt's presence that had altered the amicable course they had been on for a time. Now Blaine had more at stake, had Kurt to protect and defend. Or it might have been her lack of concern at his plight, the endless weeks he'd been forced to endure in a bizarre, ignorant homeostasis. Blaine knew these were both contributors to the wary loathing he'd come to feel for the woman, but if he was honest, they weren't his primary reasons. Blaine hated Santana because he couldn't understand her, because she ran hot and cold and turned on a dime, and he knew—he _knew_—that this type of person was not to be trusted.

"What do you want?" he grumbled, relaxing his shoulders but not bothering to look up.

"You don't trust me," Santana stated simply.

Blaine scoffed. "You think?"

He watched her approach out of the corner of his eye, felt her take a seat mere inches from him on the hard stone bench.

"I don't blame you," she said carefully after a moment. "If I were in your shoes, I wouldn't trust me either. But you shouldn't blame Kurt. He doesn't know me the same way you do; he knows the girl I once was."

"If you're trying to win my confidence, that's a pretty weak argument."

He waited for her usual quick-witted retort, but it never came.

"I'm trying to be honest," she said instead.

"Honest…" Blaine chuckled wryly. "What does honesty even mean to a person like you?"

"I'm not a monster—" for the first time, Santana sounded passionate, almost defensive. "I've—" her voice faltered "—I've never lied to you before."

"Really?" Blaine didn't even try to mask his incredulity.

"Yes, really."

There was something there this time, something in her voice that made Blaine finally look up to consider the woman sitting next to him. He met her eyes, studying them for a long time, feeling something too close to guilt at what he found there.

"What happened to you?" Blaine asked at last, words breathy and disbelieving.

Santana opened her mouth, hesitation and discomfort written all over her face, then closed it, truly seeming to flounder for the first time in the long weeks he had known her. Suddenly Blaine wasn't sure that he wanted to know the answer.

"Why should I trust you?" he asked instead.

She settled a little bit, seemed to be searching now. "Brittany," she finally answered. "I know it sounds cliché, but you have Kurt, so you must know—I'd do anything for her."

"That's not the only reason," Blaine pressed, not wanting to make this too easy.

Santana nodded. "No, of course not. But it's the best one."

Blaine watched her for a moment longer before nodding as well, conceding her point.

"If you betray us..." he began.

"Don't even," Santana warned, a flash of her old self that Blaine found somewhat comforting. "Surely you're smart enough to realize that I have far more at stake here than you. What, that you have now, do you stand to lose?"

_Kurt. _The name was on the tip of his tongue, but Blaine caught himself, reminded himself begrudgingly that they were already in danger, that with or without Santana they'd probably be in more danger before all of this was done. Blaine didn't understand it, but he had accepted that Santana cared about Kurt the moment he had learned her reason for letting him live.

"If we're doing this, I want to go over your plan until it's airtight. I'm not taking any unnecessary risks, not with him," Blaine told her, determined to save face if he was going to cave.

Santana smiled, and Blaine allowed himself a moment to doubt her again, to wonder if this entire conversation had merely been an act to win his compliance. He pushed it aside. If he was going to do this, he would have to commit to doing it whole-heartedly, for everyone's sake.

* * *

The next day found Blaine and Kurt in one of Santana's security vehicles; Kurt in the passenger seat with a map clutched in his hands, a route that they were unsure of marked roughly onto the paper. Blaine sat next to him clenching and unclenching his fists around the wheel, body still racked with too much tension and lingering uncertainty.

"We'll expect you back by night tomorrow," Santana said through the window, Brittany standing nervously just behind her.

"Or what?" Blaine asked.

Santana just shook her head, but Blaine already knew she didn't have an answer.

"We'll be here," Kurt assured her. "With news."

"Be safe," Santana told him with a small, sad smile on her face.

"I'll tell the trees to look out for you," Brittany added, and Blaine was tempted for a moment to ask her if that was something she could actually do.

"Right," he said instead to no one in particular, looking nervously at the road ahead.

Kurt's hand startled him, settling lightly on his arm, and his head shot over to take in Kurt's smiling face. He smiled weakly in return, and the hand gave a gently squeeze.

"We'll be fine, Santana," Kurt said, still looking at Blaine. Then, "we should really get going, though."

"Right," Blaine said again, Kurt's hand falling away as he reached for the gear shift and moved it to 'D'.

"Goodbye," Kurt spoke past him, out the window.

Blaine pressed a shaky foot down on the gas pedal, and they were off.

* * *

The drive took only about an hour, and Kurt spent most of that time grumbling about how inconvenient it had been when he was traveling on foot. "_Three days_, Blaine! You'd think the resistance could bother to get a car."

"I'm sure they have a car, you probably just weren't prepared to steal it," Blaine commented dryly.

Kurt huffed. "Yeah, well, they were all locked up in the garage. And there's not exactly a road close enough to the house to make them useful anyway; I'm not sure what they're there for. It wasn't really an option, but I wasn't going to let that stop me."

Blaine grinned in spite of himself. "I still can't get over the fact that you did all that just to come and find me. I wish I'd been around to take pictures of you trekking through the woods!"

"I thought you were angry at me for taking the risk?"

"Oh, I am," Blaine confirmed. "But it was still really sweet, Kurt. Thank you."

Kurt turned to him with a smile on his face, but it quickly changed into a look of recognition. "Hey, I think I remember this place! How long have we been driving?"

Blaine glanced at the clock. "About an hour and ten minutes, now. Are we close?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure we crossed the road through here. Pull over!"

"I don't think that's wise," Blaine protested, shaking his head. "We don't want to leave the vehicle somewhere noticeable. Is there any civilization around here?"

"I think Mercedes mentioned a gas station where they go sometimes along a road nearby. It might be up ahead, if this is the one she meant. She said they don't ask a lot of questions there."

"I guess that's our best shot; I'll just keep going then."

Sure enough, after less than five more minutes of traveling they spotted a small gas station and an accompanying store. Blaine pulled over into the farthest parking spot. "This is it, then. Do you want to head back up the road or try to cut over from here?"

After a bit of discussion and an okay from the girl behind the station's counter to leave the car there overnight (for the first time, Blaine was glad that Santana had thought to have them wear the guard's uniforms—it helped with credibility,) Kurt and Blaine headed out with only backpacks in tow.

Fortunately, Kurt was able to pick out the familiar route fairly quickly, and after meandering for about another hour, they reached the clearing and the house.

"What now?" Kurt asked, sounding nervous now that the moment of truth was here. "Do we just walk up and knock? What do we say?"

"Here," Blaine said, hastily pulling them back behind the trees and out of sight. "We should change first, so we don't spook them if they notice the uniforms before they see our faces."

They made quick work of the distasteful garments, Blaine cringing momentarily when he realized that he'd only brought one change of clothes, and Kurt scoffed.

"I did tell you," he chastised Blaine. "One outfit is never enough; it doesn't matter where you're going."

With no more excuses to keep them, the men quietly linked hands and approached the house. After a moment's hesitation it was Blaine that lifted the heavy knocker, but the door swung open before he could slam it back down.

"Blaine?" a confused face peaked out, quickly widening into an enormous grin. "Hey guys, it's Blaine!" David called back into the house, before turning and flinging his arms around his unsuspecting friend, who patted his back awkwardly.

"Hey," Blaine offered. "It's good to see you!"

David finally broke free to latch onto Kurt, and Blaine soon found himself assaulted instead by Mike and then Wes, with more and more friends and acquaintances gathering to take part in the commotion.

"Dude, how are you here?" asked a tall man whom Blaine could only assume must be Finn as he pulled away from a choking Kurt, who was rubbing at his arms. Blaine scowled up at him, and Finn had the decency to look apologetic. "Sorry," he offered weakly, but Kurt just smiled.

The noise died down as everyone waited eagerly for the two men to explain themselves. "It's a long story," Blaine addressed the sea of curious faces. "It might take some convincing for you to believe it, but that's why we're here."

"We've got time," Wes said, stepping forward. "Why don't we get you two settled with something to eat, and then you can fill us in?"

Blaine nodded gratefully, noticing out of the corner of his eye that Kurt did the same. He settled happily into a conversation with Mike as they headed into the kitchen, arms slung around one another. Kurt hung back to catch up with Mercedes (whom Blaine had never met, but she seemed kind; he was happy that Kurt had a friend).

He didn't notice the figure watching him solemnly from the far side of the room, nor Sebastian's smirking face as he ran his eyes over the length of Blaine's body, following the group a few steps behind.

* * *

"So guys, what's the story?"

Bellies full, the entire group had squeezed into the living room for an impromptu meeting. Kurt sat beside Blaine front and center, looking a little nervous to have so many eyes on him, so Blaine cleared his throat and took the floor.

"You guys know that a few months ago Kurt and I tried to cross the barrier together, but it didn't let me through," he waited as several people nodded. "I was found, unconscious, by two security guards and taken to headquarters. Santana Lopez, current Head of Security, was about to have me killed, but at the last minute she changed her mind. I later learned it was because of Kurt—she saw my soulmate mark and spared me because they had been childhood friends."

"But I've heard that she's…" someone started to say, but Blaine brought his hand up and the woman cut off.

"Please, hear me out."

When there was no more protest, he continued. "That was the first shock, given her infamous stance promoting the benefits of rehabilitation. But she gave me a comfortable room and free reign of the place so long as I didn't try to leave. For a time, we were almost friends. Then, a month into my stay, Kurt and Brittany showed up."

Everyone's gaze shifted to Kurt then, who colored, looking sheepish. "Sorry," he offered quietly, but Wes waved him off.

"Not important now," he said, then turned back to Blaine. "Please, continue."

Blaine nodded. "I could go into detail," he stated, "but it's much simpler to sum it up: it turns out that Brittany and Santana are soulmates. Santana resisted for a while, but eventually they got together."

Gasps were heard around the room, one person asking "is that even possible?"

"My brother," Mercedes piped up from the back of the room.

"So," Blaine cut in, hints of impatience barely evident in his voice, "Santana's done a complete one eighty. I didn't believe it myself at first, but Kurt was convinced from the very start, and after talking it over—" he swallowed loudly, wanting to project confidence where he wasn't completely certain himself "—I've decided that she can be trusted."

Silence fell over the crowd, but it didn't last long.

"Are you insane?" Sebastian was the first to speak up, trademark ridicule written all over his face. "I knew this one—" he gestured towards Kurt "—was gullible from the start, but I thought more highly of you, Blaine. Surely your training has taught you better than that!"

Blaine narrowed his eyes at him, but the rude remark seemed to open the floodgates.

"Really, Blaine, I don't think it's best that…"

"…she's notorious for…"

"…putting all of us in danger…"

"Stop!" Kurt's shout carried over the crowd, startling even Blaine, who turned around to look at him.

"Have any of you been through rehabilitation?" he asked angrily, scanning the group before him and meeting several pairs of eyes. "No, no one? I haven't either, but I've heard enough about it, and so have you. It's what you people are supposed to be fighting against!"

When no one spoke up, Kurt continued.

"I won't mention the rumors we've all heard over the years of everything the process entails, but I will remind you that it strips a person of their humanity, often of their capacity to empathize or sympathize with others. It changes you, at your core. It takes away the good and replaces it with an empty, mechanical devotion to governmental service. We've all seen it."

Most of Kurt's audience looked shocked now, even guilty, and Blaine felt a surplus of pride well up within him at what his soulmate had accomplished. Mercedes looked sad and was nodding almost robotically.

"Santana wasn't one of the lucky ones like those of us sitting in this room. I didn't know her before the procedure, but I got to know the bitter shell of a person that was left. To most of the world she was cold, calculated, and defensive, but I could see beneath all that, see the loyal, passionate girl that was hurting. She became my _friend_.

"Then Brittany came along, and for the first time I saw the person Santana could be—was _meant_ to be—at her full potential. A person who was happy, who was whole, who was able to commit to good—just like every one of you. Santana has changed in the way that only love can manage, and isn't that what we're fighting for? She wants to help, and she's in a position where she can help. If you refuse to let her, it will be your own necks you're biting."

Kurt fell silent with one last huff of breath, sagging in his seat now that his energy was spent, but he shot Blaine a grateful smile when Blaine reached to take his hand.

"Does Santana have a plan?" Wes asked at last.

Blaine nodded. "She'd like the group to relocate there—she's gotten rid of all the guards she doesn't trust, so it's as safe as it can be. You may have heard that she's running for president; her first campaign speech is a few weeks away. She'd like to take the opportunity to tell her story, change her stance. She wants to be open about this, run an honest campaign—hopefully with our support."

"She's going to do it anyway?" Mike asked, his tone disbelieving.

"Yes."

The room was quiet once more, everyone seemingly lost in their own thoughts, until finally Wes spoke up again. "I think we've heard enough for tonight. If it's okay, I'd like to hold another meeting tomorrow evening and we'll put it to a vote." He nodded towards Blaine and Kurt. "Will you two be staying with us?"

"Just this evening, if that's alright," Blaine answered. "Perhaps it's best if you vote without us present."

Wes nodded again, this time in consent, and everyone sluggishly—noiselessly—headed for bed.

* * *

The solemnity of the night before continued into breakfast the next morning, with the exception of Finn, who prattled on about nothing in particular as if oblivious to the tension around him. Blaine had to admit he was coming to find the taller man rather endearing, and it was clear that Kurt already thought as much.

A second interruption came from Sebastian, sidling over with his usual quips and jibes—now consisting of a fair mix of hitting on Blaine and insulting Kurt. They both tried to ignore it, but Blaine could feel his anger rising with each dig and Kurt was inching closer and closer to him until he was practically in Blaine's lap, his arm wound tightly through Blaine's own and making it rather difficult to eat.

"We're done, Sebastian," Kurt finally said, shooting the man his trademark bitch glare. It made Blaine want to kiss him, so he did.

"Classy," Sebastian sneered a final time before thankfully stalking off.

There wasn't much reason to linger after that, at least not in such an uncomfortable atmosphere, so with a few final words to Mike, Mercedes, Wes and Finn, the men gathered their things and headed for the door.

"Blaine," a voice stalled him, hand on the doorknob, and Blaine froze. "Please, I'd like to talk to you."

Collecting himself, Blaine whirled around to face Cooper. He'd noticed his brother among the others yesterday but pointedly chose to ignore him. This wasn't fair; he had so much to deal with already.

"You have nothing to say that I want to hear," Blaine said coldly.

Cooper opened his mouth as if to speak, but Kurt beat him to it. "I think you should hear him out," he told Blaine quietly, fingers brushing against Blaine's hand.

"Kurt, that's not…"

"Talk to him," Kurt interrupted sternly. And before Blaine could respond he was slipping out of the room, leaving Blaine exasperated and trapped.

Blaine stared after him for a moment before refocusing on Cooper, face carefully blank. "This isn't happening," he stated, and turned back towards the door.

"Blaine, wait," Cooper moved forward, grabbed his arm, and Blaine shook it off roughly.

"You have no right!" he yelled loudly, chest heaving as his anger was unleashed.

"I just want to explain," Cooper said weakly, sounding nothing at all like the brother remembered. Maybe that's what made the difference.

"Two minutes," Blaine said at last. "Two minutes and I'm gone, forever. I don't want to hear from you again."

Cooper nodded frantically, but then fell silent as if uncertain now what to say.

"I'm waiting."

"It was the only way," Cooper spoke in a rush. "When we were leaving the house, I saw her—Molli. She's my soulmate, Blaine, that's why I did it. I had to get her out of there, and there was no other way they'd let me go..."

"So I was the sacrifice, is that it?" Blaine demanded, anger still raging within him.

"Yes! No! No, I… I didn't want it to be that way, but everything happened so fast, and there was no time to _think_…"

"What did you tell them? What lies did you feed them about me?"

He was up in Cooper's face now, the other man cowering, giving ground despite being significantly taller. Cooper looked guilty, desperate, afraid, and Blaine couldn't help but ride out this power trip. Never before had he had this kind of advantage over his brother, the almighty Cooper. He'd never really wanted it before, truth be told, but now it felt like it was his right.

"I told them you were the leader, the head of the group. I said that you'd planned it all, that I was being blackmailed. I'm a good actor; they believed me."

Blaine scoffed. Even backed into a corner, Cooper remained conceited as ever.

"You have your soulmate now, surely you understand! Surely you'd do anything!"

To Blaine's surprise, he found himself considering. What would he have done, in Cooper's shoes? What and who was he willing to sacrifice for Kurt's sake?

The answer, of course, was anything, anyone. But Blaine would have found a better way.

"Your two minutes are up," he said finally, the words empty of his previous venom but just as absolute.

"What?" Cooper exclaimed, looking earnestly confused. Anger thinning, Blaine almost felt sorry for him.

"I understand why you did it," Blaine told him. "But I can't forgive you, Cooper. I won't. You were my _brother_!"

"I am your brother," Cooper correctly quietly, looking devastated.

Blaine swallowed thickly. "No. Not anymore."

He turned away from Cooper for the last time, heading in the direction Kurt had disappeared. Blaine wasn't surprised to find him standing just outside the doorway, face ashen and sad, clearly having heard every word.

"Blaine..." he started.

"Let's go, Kurt," Blaine said firmly.

"But Blaine…"

"Not now."

He took Kurt's hand in his as they left the house, the weight of it a familiar comfort. Maybe he would talk to Kurt later, but for now his soulmate's quiet presence was enough.


	11. Chapter Nine: Uprising

**_A/N: _**The last chapter is written, so now I'm on the epilogue - this should be out once a week until it's finished now folks, so within a month! I didn't get much feedback on the last chapter, so I'd really appreciate it if you'd drop me a word or two and let me know if I'm doing well. This story is my baby, and I want to do it justice for myself and for all of you :-)

* * *

**_Chapter Nine: The Uprising_**

Kurt's mind spun whenever he permitted himself to ponder everything that had happened over the past few weeks. It was all so much.

Running away from the safehouse had been an epic fail, but in the best way. If he was honest with himself, Kurt had always planned on encountering Santana—he was too curious about his old friend, too hopeful that somehow he might make a difference.

Of course, in the end it was Brittany who had made the difference.

He couldn't be happier for them, more thrilled at the way everything had somehow worked out, except…

Except.

As tempting as it was to chock the entire situation up to another of life's rare miracles—to delight in his friends' happiness and in finally being reunited with the man he loved—there was still the rest of the world. The rest of the world that didn't want them to have any of this on a stupid, prejudice technicality that was entirely out of their control. They were still trapped, and despite how hard Kurt fought to ignore it, anxiety was building within him each day. He felt as though the four of them were being dragged down a dark path against their will, and Kurt knew instinctively that he wouldn't like what they found when they reached the end.

Sometimes Kurt really hated his instincts. They were usually right.

And then there was Blaine to deal with. Not that Blaine could ever, _ever_ be a burden to Kurt, but it was clear that the other man was unsettled now in a way that he hadn't been before, and Kurt felt at a loss to help him. He trusted Santana, but it was impossible—maybe even a waste of time—to explain the why and how of that trust to Blaine… especially when he was battling such strong misgivings of his own about their situation, even if they were slightly different in nature. Blaine was already too unhinged, and Kurt was unwilling to trouble him further in fear that his soulmate might lose it altogether.

That aside, Kurt understood why Blaine felt the way he did about his high school friend. Blaine had been betrayed horribly, unspeakably in the past, and Kurt would never fault him for his caution. He was careful to tread lightly when he and Blaine gathered with the girls to discuss plans and strategies, hoping—_praying_—that Blaine would come around in his own time. When Cooper inevitably approached Blaine before their departure from the safehouse, Kurt had pushed once and then left it alone, offering only love and support in the wake of the brothers' confrontation even though the outcome was not what he had hoped or would have chosen for himself.

There had been entirely too much to contemplate and a surplus of time to think since their return to the mansion. The four of them weren't sure what to do and had eventually come to the conclusion that there was really nothing they coulddo for the time being—only be patient and hope that the others would come around. Kurt wished they'd thought to settle with Wes how everyone would proceed once a decision was reached. Did the resistance expect them back at the safehouse in a few days to hear an answer? Would they send a representative, or some kind of sign?

The last thing Kurt anticipated was to be called to the dungeon room (as he'd taken to calling it) after five long days of waiting to find at least fifteen members of the resistance, looking haggard, dirty, and tired but very much determined.

Among them were Finn, Mike, David, Mercedes… and Cooper. Brittany and Blaine, who had been engaged in a game of chess on the patio when the guard came to get Kurt, were already enmeshed within the group, faces bright and smiling, though Kurt saw Blaine's eyes narrow briefly when they chanced upon his brother. Kurt shot Cooper a small, apologetic smile before turning his attention elsewhere. He spotted Santana standing off to the side observing the group before her, looking much more reserved and calculating than the rest.

"Kurt!" Finn called his name, and Kurt couldn't help but return Finn's grin as he found himself engulfed in the arms of his new stepbrother. He never would have expected to feel such kinship to another person—formerly a stranger—so quickly, but he couldn't deny the attachment he now felt to the larger man, the elation within him every time he so much as thought or heard the word: _brother_.

Mercedes approached next, offering a much looser, warmer embrace.

"I didn't expect you guys to just show up here!" Kurt exclaimed. "Does this mean…?"

Mercedes shook her head, face falling a little. "The vote was split, and there were some—" she hesitated before seeming to settle on her next word "—disagreements. In the end, it was agreed that anyone who wished to could leave, and the others could remain safehouse, secret intact, or choose to return to The Olde World."

Kurt nodded. "I didn't see Wes?"

"He wanted to come, Kurt, but he had to stay back to smooth things over."

"He totally supports you, dude," Finn added.

"I'm just glad to see you two," Kurt said earnestly. "And Mike, and David…" looking back over the crowd, Kurt noticed that it mostly consisted of Blaine's friends, with a few faces he couldn't yet place. Sugar hadn't come, he noted sadly, but neither had Sebastian—no surprise there.

Brittany finally dragged a reluctant Santana into the fray, and Kurt took a deep breath and braced himself for the moment of truth. "Come on, you guys should meet Santana," he suggested, taking both their hands and pulling them towards the rest of the group.

No, this wasn't what Kurt had expected—but it felt right, a relief to have so many people he cared about here together. For the first time in several long weeks, Kurt allowed himself to consider their predicament with something that felt dangerously close to hope.

* * *

They held an informal meeting later that evening , which largely consisted of Santana divulging her story to everyone (rather uncomfortably, but Kurt thought he might be one of the few that could tell) followed by a discussion of what would come next. Their previous plan for Santana to make a speech against rehabilitation at the upcoming campaign event was the first item discussed and solidified. The group's attention then turned to safety and security, as they were all well aware that this was bound to be an unpopular move in the eyes of most, primarily the very government for which Santana worked.

After the meeting, Kurt pulled her aside. "Will they let you come back here, after? Will you still have a job?"

Santana shrugged and took a lengthy drink of wine. "It would be safer to find someplace else and lay low, of course, but I'll have to risk it. They can ask me to step down, but they can't keep me from running. Unless, of course, they have me arrested for treason." She sighed. "I really don't know, Kurt. No one's ever made a move this big before."

He offered her a weak smile, unsure of what to say, and quickly excused himself as Brittany approached with some of the others. Noticing Blaine standing in the corner with Mike, the two of them involved in an intense but hushed discussion, he headed that way.

As Kurt neared their conversation slowed to a halt, both of them glancing at him with half-smiles.

"Hey," Blaine said, holding an arm out for Kurt to snuggle in against his side.

"Hey," he offered in return.

"We were just discussing some of the training that might be needed," Blaine informed him. "Some of these folks are a little rusty. You game?"

"What kind of training?"

"Weapons," Mike supplied. "Mostly guns. Your man here's a pretty good shot, he ever mention that?"

Kurt turned his gaze to Blaine, raising one eyebrow in amusement. Blaine shrugged, flushing ever so slightly.

"I prefer my fists," he protested.

"That doesn't mean you're not good. I prefer swords, myself—I studied fencing in grade school—but they won't be of much use here, I'm afraid."

Kurt ran his eyes over Mike's lithe body with a new appreciation. He'd always considered fencing one of the more graceful sports, similar to dance in many ways—that was probably why it was such a popular choice for musicals and ballet. It suited Mike, Kurt decided.

He looked up to meet the taller man's eyes, purposefully avoiding Blaine's. "I'm alright with a gun; my father taught me to hunt when I was ten. It's been awhile, but it's like riding a bike, right? I don't think I'll need the training."

"Kurt, I think it might be safer if…"

"I don't need the training, Blaine," he said more stiffly, still not looking over at his soulmate.

Mike frowned at them both. "Santana said she wanted the two of you up there with her. It's going to be a fairly vulnerable position; you should both be able to defend yourselves."

Unsure how to respond, Kurt's eyes darted around frantically for an out. "Finn!" he exclaimed gratefully, grabbing his brother's arm and pulling him away from a desert table set up a few feet from where they were talking. Finn looked dismayed, eyeing the cake longingly and snatching up a handful of cookies as he was yanked along, crumbs trailing behind him. "We were just talking about weapons. Weren't you telling me the other day about that paintball league you started back in high school?"

Finn perked up a bit at this, immediately latching on to the topic, and Kurt finally stole a glance at Blaine. His soulmate was staring at him, the look on his face somewhere between a glare and apprehension. Feeling guilty, Kurt turned his attention back to his brother, feigning interest, asking questions to keep him talking.

Blaine wouldn't be put off forever. Kurt was certain he was in for a taxing evening when he and Blaine finally retired to their room.

* * *

Kurt wasn't wrong. The door was barely latched behind them before Blaine started in on him, face tense with something Kurt suspected might be a very understandable frustration.

"Care to explain what that was back there?" he questioned. "Why on Earth would you be against training? You've always been a cautious person, perhaps even more so than me!"

Kurt sighed, lifting his eyes to meet Blaine's. "I'm not training, Blaine—at least not for any sort of battle."

Blaine opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again. "I don't understand," he finally said.

"I'm a pacifist," Kurt admitted. "I won't use a gun, not for that. Not against another person."

"A pacifist," Blaine repeated dully. Kurt nodded. "Why?"

"It's something I decided for myself a long time ago. Way back in high school, actually. It was the bullying, bits and pieces of what I'd heard about rehabilitation, things I'd watch on tv that turned my stomach. I hate violence; it repulses me. It's… it's a lot of things, Blaine; I don't think I have an explanation that will be good enough for you. It's just… part of who I am."

He really wished he had a way to make Blaine understand, make him see that Kurt wasn't doing this to hurt him. In the past he'd found that honesty was usually enough, though something told him that it wouldn't be so simple this time. But Kurt's heart was bound, and his hands were tied.

Blaine looked like he was at least considering what Kurt had to say. He no longer appeared to be angry. This was good.

"Kurt," Blaine stepped closer—half-dressed as they'd both been changing while they spoke—and took Kurt's hands. "That makes sense, I guess, but this is different. This is important. It could be… it could be life or death."

Kurt nodded, squeezing the hands in his. "I'm so sorry, but that doesn't change how I feel."

He watched as Blaine grew a little frantic, pulling his hands away from Kurt's and fidgeting. "That's… that's not good enough, Kurt. Not for this. I need you to be safe! You either carry a gun, or you stay back."

"That's not your decision, Blaine," Kurt said calmly.

"What, you expect me to protect you? I can't be worried about you up there; it's too much. This… this is crazy!"

When he began to pace, Kurt reached out a hand to his shoulder to steady him, but it was shrugged off. "Blaine…" he sighed. "I would say that I don't expect that, no, but I know that's useless because it's what you'll be trying to do anyways."

Blaine shook his head wildly, body tense. "No, this is insane. This is too much…"

"Hey," this time, Kurt grabbed him a little more forcefully with both hands, successfully halting his movement. "Hey," he repeated. "I know how scared you feel right now, remember? I know it's hard but we'll get through this, and…"

Blaine's hands came up to knock Kurt's away, his eyes darkening further as he folded his arms in front his chest, seeming almost to shrink away. "If you know, Kurt, then why would you do this to me? Why put me through this?"

Kurt's face fell, his careful demeanor beginning to crumble. "It's not like it's a choice, Blaine. It's something that _I can't do_."

"I don't believe that," Blaine argued. "You can, but you won't. You won't do it for yourself, and you won't do it for me!"

He turned then, walking away and yanking open the dresser drawer to pull out a pair of pajama pants, stumbling in his haste to get them on and nearly falling over.

"Blaine…" Kurt tried, his heart breaking.

"Please stop talking."

It was clear that Blaine was purposefully refusing to look at him as he successfully righted his pants and made his way over to the bed, curling into himself on the far side, facing the wall.

"Blaine," Kurt said again, more of a sigh. He quickly got himself dressed and killed the light, stretching out beside Blaine as close as he dared and tentatively reaching out to touch his soulmate's arm. Blaine flinched away.

Unwilling to give up, Kurt scooted closer until they were flush together, spooning his longer body behind Blaine's easily. The smaller man trembled in his arms. Concerned, Kurt reached up to gently trace Blaine's face. It was wet.

He'd never seen Blaine cry before.

Kurt clutched him tighter, and Blaine reached a shaky hand up to snag Kurt's own, intertwining their fingers and squeezing hard. They lay like that quietly for several moments, Kurt occasionally pressing kisses to the back of Blaine's shoulders and neck.

"I can't lose you again," Blaine said brokenly, cutting through the silence.

Kurt sucked a breath in sharply, closing his eyes against the threat of his own tears. Tugging gently, he rolled Blaine onto his back.

"Hey," he said, turning Blaine's face toward his own with his free hand, almost losing himself in the glossy depths of Blaine's familiar, beautiful eyes. "I'm right here! I'm real; I'm safe._ We're okay._"

He pulled their joined hands up to his face, pressing Blaine's palm against it as if to accentuate his point, dragging it slowly down and across his own chest. "I'm here," he said again, a mere whisper. Suddenly, Blaine's fingers were threading through his hair, tugging him down roughly into a kiss, Blaine's hands manipulating his body until it was covering Blaine completely.

Kurt returned the kiss with passion, tasting the salt of Blaine's tears and feeling Blaine's pain as if it were his own. Blaine's hands settled at Kurt's hips as he scooted up against the headboard, until Kurt was more sitting than lying in his lap. Kurt felt his arousal stirring as Blaine's fingers slipped under the flannel of his pants to grab too-hard at his ass, felt Blaine already hard and needy, pressed against his thigh through two layers.

They didn't speak anymore; it wasn't necessarily. Kurt rose up to his knees so Blaine could work the fabric down his body, crawling out of the offending clothing and taking the opportunity to lean over and grapple for the lube in the nightstand, slamming the drawer too-loudly the moment his hand closed around it. Blaine was still fumbling with his pants, so Kurt squirted some lube onto his own fingers, reaching back to clumsily work himself open.

He heard Blaine gasp, felt more than saw his soulmate's eyes on him in the darkness. Kurt keened when he felt Blaine's finger slide in next to two of his own, wriggling his ass back against it in a clear signal for Blaine to take over. He did.

The sound of squelching from too-much lube was almost louder than Kurt himself as Blaine fucked into him with four fingers, their cocks rutting against each other with each jerky movement. Kurt's eyes rolled back in his head. Some other time, he might have found the noise distasteful, but now it only seemed to add to their shared frenzy.

"Source, need you _inside_," Kurt moaned, low and breathless.

In an instant Blaine's fingers were gone, and they were kissing, all tongue and teeth. When Blaine grabbed his hips and thrust into him, hard and burning and perfect, Kurt's jaw snapped closed on Blaine's lip, drawing blood. Blaine groaned, pulling out and doing it all over again, Kurt more prepared this time and focused on licking into his mouth.

Blaine set the pace, rough but slow, sometimes fucking up into Kurt and sometimes choosing to maneuver Kurt's hips down over him instead. For Kurt it was a sharp and easy pleasure, and he rode it out as long as he could before his desperation grew too great. Pulling Blaine's hands from his body, he wrapped his own tight around Blaine's wrists, pinning them against the headboard and taking over.

His muscles were screaming in protest after only a short time, unaccustomed to such a strenuous workout, but Kurt continued on, driven by his frantic need for completion. He hadn't ridden Blaine before, and the other man was making the most atrocious sounds—so different from when he was the one in control—and Kurt couldn't help but revel in it, each groan-turned-whine spiking his pleasure.

It didn't take long at all for his orgasm to overtake him, the accompanying depart from lucidity still a shock even after several similar experiences. When he became aware again he was flat on his back, Blaine pressing his knees up into his shoulders as he pounded into him, eyes locked on Kurt's own. Kurt smiled, reaching up to cup Blaine's sweaty face, fingers brushing tenderly against his damp curls.

Blaine tried to kiss him as he came, mouth stretching over Kurt's in a silent scream, and despite the heat Kurt wrapped his arms around the other man as he came down, pulling Blaine's body flush to his own chest.

He could tell the moment Blaine was back with him, carefully lowering his legs as Blaine laid perfectly still, his breathing and heartbeat gently slowing.

Kurt looked down at the man he loved, ran his hand through the tangle of Blaine's hair, and swallowed hard.

"Blaine?" he broke the silence after several long minutes had passed.

"Yes?"

"I'll think about it."

Blaine turned his head briefly, placing a soft kiss over Kurt's heart, then lowered it to rest again against his chest—both men content to stay just as they were meant to be for as long as they could manage.


	12. Chapter Ten: Viva la Vida

**A/N: **First of all, I would like to apologize to all of my readers for the delay in posting this - it was all ready to go, but in light of the tragic death of Cory Monteith, I decided that posting this particular chapter so soon in its wake would be a mistake. I know we all feel his loss sharply. I recently posted another fic in his honor - "What It Means To Be Brothers". It focuses on the canon relationship between Finn and Kurt (as brothers) and is NOT sad. Check it out if you like via my profile.

**Warning for character death this chapter**. This was always in the cards from the story's first conception, and this chapter was not easy for me to write. Please, please don't hate me - but even if you do, I'd love to hear about it.

* * *

**_Chapter Ten: Viva la Vida_**

Blaine was nervous.

There were a scarce few days until the big speech, and Kurt had yet to say anything more about his decision to carry a weapon into the fray… or not. Blaine felt terrible to think it, but if there was a way that he could force the matter, he would. Kurt had been attending the trainings here and there, so that was something.

The novelty of finally passing time with more than the same three people had quickly worn off, and Blaine was far from the only resistance member on edge. Kurt was snapping at people so easily these days that Blaine was beginning to understand why he was such good friends with Santana. So far, Blaine himself had been spared his tongue, but yesterday Kurt had lashed out at Finn for trying to steal a French fry from his plate at lunch and, contrary to what he had been inclined to believe, it wasn't so much amusing to see the much larger man cowering like a kicked puppy as it was pathetic.

The bitch herself appeared much the same to those who didn't know her well, but Blaine could tell that Santana's insults fell a little flatter, her quips a little less calculated. Brittany had approached him and Kurt one day to worriedly report that Santana had begun randomly ranting in a strange language she had never heard before, but Kurt assured the frightened girl that he had seen Santana do this back in high school—the language was one of her ancestors, centuries old and rarely used now, but it boded no harm beyond a sure sign of stress.

Brittany, Blaine was starting to realize, was quite an asset at a time like this. Not only was she sometimes able to channel her powers to send waves of calm over the group, but perhaps even more importantly, she was one of the few of them who seemed fully herself. Bright and bubbly, happy and hopeful—it was a joy to witness, even if Blaine couldn't quite bring himself to feel the same.

Mike also remained largely unchanged, though Blaine knew from their shared history that it was likely a front. His friend was an expert at pushing his feelings aside to focus on whatever task was at hand—in this case, organizing and assigning duties to everyone for the big day, a job that had traditionally fallen to Mike when Wes wasn't present. Blaine would seek him out every now and then to sit with and reminisce, making easy small talk, and it helped when he could smile and be distracted from his troubles for a time.

When he wasn't with Blaine, Kurt spent more and more of his time with Mercedes, the two linking arms and taking walks around the grounds while whispering with their heads leaning close together. Blaine didn't know what they spoke about, and he didn't ask. As he slowly got to know Mercedes, he found he liked the girl—she was headstrong, like Kurt, but also shared his natural warmth and compassion. Kurt could use someone to confide in at a time like this, especially since he had such an important decision to make. Blaine only hoped that Mercedes was encouraging him to make the right one—the one that would keep him safe.

To Blaine's dismay, an unexpected and unwelcome visitor arrived a few days after the rest: one Sebastian Smythe. He had received a cold reception all around, but it seemed not to faze him; the man merely smirked in his customary manner and claimed that those remaining at the safehouse were beginning to bore him, so he'd decided to throw his lot in with Santana's crowd. If he had been hoping for drama, he didn't get it—the others unanimously ignored him except where courtesy and necessity demanded. Mike quietly divulged to Blaine one evening that in spite of his innate propensity to offend, they were fortunate to have a man possessing his particular skills in stealth among their ranks. Blaine wasn't so sure it was worth it.

Their final hours clicked by in a misleading haze of calm, a simple pattern of sleeping, waking, eating, training, _being_. Blaine clung to Kurt a little tighter each night, and Kurt clung back; they shared gentle touches and long, tender kisses and few needless words.

And then it was the day of reckoning.

* * *

Waking felt like a betrayal of everything the day was destined to hold—a warm press of naked skin against his, hair tickling under his nose, a half-dry pool of drool on his shoulder and sunlight from the open window pouring over their bodies like a balm from the Source itself.

Blaine closed his eyes again the moment they opened and tried his best to pretend.

"Morning," the soft voice startled him just before Kurt began to wriggle in his arms. Soft kisses rained down on Blaine's face, and when he found the strength to open his eyes once more, they immediately met with a pair of familiar sky-blue, still sleep-happy. He watched them sadly as reality slowly began to dawn, _saw_ them harden into a colder steel-grey.

"The big day," Kurt whispered, and Blaine nodded.

Kurt's eyes shut for a moment and then they were back again, determined, and Blaine wished he wouldn't speak even as his mouth began to move.

"I need to be honest with you, Blaine. I thought about what you asked of me… and I can't."

Blaine felt his insides freeze, his body tense, but to Kurt it must have appeared a lot like indifference.

"I'm so sorry," Kurt continued in a rush. "I decided a few days ago, actually, but I didn't want to worry you prematurely…"

"Did Mercedes put you up to this?" Blaine cut him off.

"What? No, why would you think?" Kurt's face darkened, and Blaine wished he could take it back. "She was on your side, Blaine. But you would think the worst."

"It doesn't matter now, does it?" he snapped.

"Don't do this," Kurt pleaded. "Not today, not with…"

"You're right," Blaine admitted, trying to force himself to relax. "But I can't be happy about this Kurt; you can't expect me to… damn it!" He slammed his fist down hard on the nightstand as his anger got the better of him, and the bed rattled with his movement.

"That was smart," Kurt said sarcastically as Blaine wrung out his hand.

"What the fuck do you expect me to do, Kurt? I can't do anything now, there's no time to change your mind. I can't do anything!"

Abruptly he stood, began throwing on his clothes without even thinking about it, then whirled back around to the bed, half-dressed.

"Please, Kurt… if you're not going to defend yourself, don't go! It's too risky, you can't… you can switch with Mike, stay in the vans! Or stay back here with Maria—she's sick, we really shouldn't leave her alone…"

"Blaine, I'm going up there with you, with Santana. Me, you, Brittany, Santana, and Henry, just like we planned," Kurt told him firmly.

"Not if she doesn't want you to!"Blaine shot back. "I'll talk to Santana, change her mind… she won't like this either, Kurt; it's stupid!"

Kurt stood then, crawling out of bed slowly and coming so close Blaine could feel Kurt's breath against his face. "I'm going, Blaine. You can't change my mind, and you can't stop me."

"I can lock you in here!" Blaine cried, desperate. "If you can't leave, and you'll…"

"Blaine," Kurt said more gently, reaching out to cup his face.

"What if I can't protect you?" Blaine said brokenly.

"You won't have to," Kurt assured him. "Blaine, we don't even know that it will be dangerous! You probably won't even need the weapons, you'll see. The laws here are stupid, but people aren't _violent_…"

"You're so naïve," Blaine whispered, clutching at him. "I hope you're right."

"Yeah," Kurt said. "I hope so too."

* * *

Most everyone was silent during the three hour drive—they sat coupled together but purposefully avoiding each others' eyes, Santana and Brittany gripping hands too-tight, Kurt's head on Blaine's shoulder, their bodies pressed together from arm to thigh. Henry was the only exception. To what extent Santana's most trusted guard was informed of their situation, whether he was oblivious to the tension in the vehicle or cheerfully attempting to ignore it, if he questioned at all why the three of them joined Santana in the place of legitimate guards—Blaine didn't know, and right now he didn't care. He did cling, though, to the steady, jovial rhythm of the man's words, unable to focus on their meaning but unwilling to focus on anything else.

The trip passed in a haze, as did their short wait in the stuffy government's hall while another candidate went first.

It was like something out of a dream. The four of them flanked Santana on a balcony overlooking the vast crowd that had gathered. Blaine knew there were several resistance members scattered among the masses, but try as he might his eyes couldn't find them. Despite his knowledge of their presence, Blaine felt eerily alone. Front and center, Santana herself looked every bit the leader—strong and fierce and sure. He tried to take comfort in that, but the wind blew chilly even through the layers of his guard's uniform, and there was no comfort to be had.

Brittany seemed lost in her thoughts, and Kurt appeared to be in awe, an almost whimsical expression on his face as he clutched the railing and peered out at the crowd. Every once in a while, he would glance back at Santana, and she would break character so that they could share a small smile. Blaine wished he could share in their anticipation—though false and deceitful, it would be a welcome companion to his fear.

If he hadn't met me, Blaine thought, Kurt wouldn't be here right now, standing vulnerable and gullible to so many eyes and so much hate. Kurt would be at home with his father, watching the proceedings on TV. He would be safe.

Distracted by his own futile musings, Blaine almost missed the moment Santana stepped forward and initiated her carefully scripted speech.

"How is everyone today?" she began amiably, face carefully arranged into a smile Blaine had never seen before and knew was fake. There were murmurs among the crowd and she paused, pretending to listen.

"It brings me great joy to stand here among you in acknowledgement of the past three years of service you have so graciously allowed me—first as a humble guard and then, for the past year, as your elected Head of Security. Now I come to you seeking to answer an even greater calling: to serve you, my people, as your president.

"I know what you're thinking—that the position is a great responsibility to be sought by one so young. Five years younger, in fact, than any who have held it before. I would ask only that you allow my record to stand for itself. While we are blessed to live in a country that has largely enjoyed peace, prosperity, and dare I say _happiness_ for a number of years now, crime rates have dropped even further under my watch. I believe it fair, and not a statement of hubris, to say that I have earned a reputation for being just and by-the-book, for lending an open ear to the counsel of others—from those who serve you with me down to even the children among you—and for prioritizing my responsibilities to my people for the good of all.

There are many causes I represent, but I won't bore you with redundancy today because most of you know them well. Earlier, I referred to the general state of harmony that has blessed our country since the last days of the great plague. What I failed to mention, and indeed, what many of you may fail to realize, is that for several among you, this peace is a façade."

Gasps were heard from the crowd, and even from a great distance Blaine could see a shift in posture and expression—the entire lot tense, on edge, anxious for her next words.

Santana, steadfast as ever, pressed on.

"How many of you have family that have been rehabilitated and now dedicate their lives to governmental service?"

Several hands went up—about a third of the group, from Blaine's estimations.

"The tradition of homosexuals—" Santana paused, waiting for some reaction to the controversial term but moving ahead when there was none—"the tradition of homosexuals holding governmental positions predates even rehabilitation. It began when the Source first arrived and saved our world—our people—from themselves. In fact, couples united by the Source would often serve together, their leadership strengthened and bettered by the bonds of love and family between them. These were some of the happiest times our country ever saw. But then the great plague came, and with it the development of rehabilitation—a fine system created out of the necessity to restore this country's population. It has been around ever since.

"Many children are happy, even proud, to be rehabilitated. It will make you stronger, my parents told me. It will get rid of the sickness inside of you. It will give you the opportunity to be somebody better than the rest, free from the weakness of love. It will give you the opportunity for power. I will never forget the excitement I felt the day they came to take me away.

"Rehabilitation itself was such a _powerful _process. They burned the name from my hand. They forced me to watch videos—terrible, violent footage. They subjected me to hours of mind games under the guise of _therapy_. I endured weeks of physical, sexual and emotional abuse."

Venom seemed to drip from her voice; Blaine chanced a glance at his companions, noting that their brows, too, were furrowed in worry. Santana was going off-script.

"It worked. I was no longer a lesbian. I felt happier, believed that I was _better_. I fucked many men, and I felt love for no one. I became the bitter, heartless person that stands before you now, petitioning you today in a bid for more _power._

"But I don't want to be that person anymore.

"Rehabilitation is a powerful process. It will take away your gender, your sexuality, your sense of self. It will remove your soulmate's name from your hand, but it cannot remove them from your heart.

"I have found my soulmate in spite of the odds, in spite of the coldness and hatred that our government put into my heart. I know now that while rehabilitation is a powerful process, it will never be more powerful that the Source, because the Source is powered by love. Love is the most powerful thing in existence. It is all that is happy, all that is good, all that is hopeful. And our society has tried, for years, to kill it.

"I stand before you today no longer bitter, no longer heartless. I seek only the power that will benefit us all—the power to let love back into our world and to do away with rehabilitation once and for all. I hope that I still have your support. Thank you."

It seemed now that the people were frozen. There was a smattering of applause, but it soon tapered off—whether halted by fear or embarrassment was impossible to know. The five on the balcony waited, tense, watching for cues from their leader. Finally, Santana's body seemed to relax, and she began to turn to leave, to meet the others waiting in the vans for a hasty exit. Kurt's eyes locked on Blaine's, both relief and weariness shining clearly in their familiar depths.

Then a shot rang out…

And the world around Blaine went to hell.

The movies had it all wrong, he thought distantly. There was nothing slow-motion about Santana's body when it dropped, nothing leisurely about the bloom of red on her grey dress, directly over her heart. He didn't have to wait for the glossy stare to set about her eyes before he knew that she was dead.

Instinct kicked in, and Blaine was back at the rail, gun poised and eyes frantically scanning the panicked crowd for any clue as to the shooter's location. Distantly, he heard Brittany wailing, the unsettling crack of her knees hitting the hard floor too-fast. Out of the corner of his eye, he noted Henry standing a few feet away, mirroring his own motions.

A second bullet whizzed by, grazing Blaine's shoulder the instant after he had unknowingly flinched out of the way.

A persistent voice in the back of his mind was screaming for Kurt, but he stoically pushed it aside to focus on the task at hand.

Another bullet, a startled grunt, and Henry went down.

_Where where where where where_ Blaine's mind played the litany, his frustration mounting alongside his fear.

And then, another gunshot, this one close enough to ring in his ears. Blaine's head spun around unbidden to find the source of the sound and followed the angle of a pistol—the one Santana herself had been hiding away—to a now-empty open window in a tall building across the way.

_Of course_, his mind supplied. _Stupid._

It took only a few moments for Blaine's senses to settle enough to think clearly, to lower his own rifle and do a double-take of the pistol, now rattling in the air. His eyes followed the clean lines of the gun to the shaky, pale hand that was clutching it, slowly across a slender arm and finally up.

Up to take in Kurt's colorless, horrified face.


	13. Chapter Eleven: When September Ends

**_A/N: _**So folks, this is the last chapter (and the longest!) I feel very vulnerable posting this, but I think I could read over it a million times and never feel it's just right. Some of you may not like the way it ends and that's okay - writing for me is about what feels right, and this is where the characters needed to be. There will be an epilogue up (about 60-75% written) that is set in the future. I have a one-shot I'm writing that I may or may not decide to finish and post before the epilogue, but for those of you who follow the story but not me, it will be posted separately.

I would really, really love to hear your thoughts after this one. A huge thank you to all of those who have stuck with me throughout the story - you make the journey worth it :-) Also a shout out to my wonderful beta: I couldn't have made it here without you!

* * *

**_Chapter Eleven: Wake Me Up When September Ends_**

Somehow, Kurt made it from the balcony to the van to the safehouse. Several hours must have passed in between, hours during which Kurt was required to move, perhaps even to maneuver himself through potentially dangerous situations. Did they run to the van? Were they chased? What happened to the body?

_The body_. Kurt couldn't get it out of his head—that still, splayed, bloody mess that had suddenly appeared on the ground next to him and couldn't possibly have ever been a person, let alone Santana. Let alone his friend.

Blaine must be here somewhere. Kurt had saved him. Blaine must have tried to comfort him at some point, and Kurt couldn't remember if he had let him.

He remembered the gun—the sight of it there on the floor lying so innocently next to _the body_, how it had called to his panic. How his eyes had spotted the man [the shooter] and found the gun and took it up and aimed and fired; he remembered the easy give of the cold trigger under his finger. He was thinking about it all now, what he didn't think of at all in that moment.

Now Kurt was lying in a large, soft bed, his body curled around a slightly smaller one. He held on tight to Brittany, but she wouldn't stop crying.

Kurt thought she might go on crying forever.

* * *

His oatmeal was cold. It probably hadn't been when he'd first gotten it.

There were so many people at the safehouse—enough that it felt crowded, claustrophobic, even though it had been designed to house multiple families. But today, Kurt felt as if he were alone. The atmosphere was quiet, muted, as if the building itself sensed that it was a time for mourning and couldn't figure out quite what to do.

Kurt didn't know what to do. He sat in the kitchen by himself, Blaine seated across from him. Blaine's hand lay splayed on the table, mere millimeters from Kurt's own clenched fist. But he didn't touch, and Kurt didn't acknowledge his presence.

Blaine was talking. Kurt caught words here and there—_shut me out_, and _please, Kurt_, and _don't do this to us_—but they were distant, as far away as a dream in the harsh light of day.

Absentmindedly, he picked up his spoon and tried to shove too much tacky mush into his mouth at once.

Open, close, chew, swallow… these things made up his life.

* * *

It may have been one day now or several.

Kurt was shivering. The worn hooded sweatshirt he had on was a poor barrier against the winter wind, and Kurt wasn't sure how it had even ended up on his body. It smelled familiar, comforting, but Kurt knew somehow that it wasn't his own. Balancing on the top step of the back porch, he hugged his knees tighter to his chest.

"Hey dude," the words were jarring, and for the first time since that day, Kurt's head turned and he _looked_. "Ummm… sorry if I'm bothering you, but Blaine begged me to try to get you to talk, so…"

Finn shrugged, looking smaller than Kurt ever recalled seeing him. He smiled weakly when Kurt met his eyes, chuckled a little. "Yeah… I'm not sure why he thought I could help, either. But this stuff is pretty sad. He's upset. He needs you and… you need him." Finn paused and shifted from one foot to the next, the puffy winter coat he was wearing crinkling awkwardly with his movement. "So… can I sit down?"

Kurt blinked, then looked away. Finn sat.

"I, ummm, heard that you got the guy that shot Santana. That's cool," Finn began again.

Shocked at his audacity, Kurt turned to consider his brother, this time with a bit more recognition. "What?" he said sharply after a long moment of silence, his tone betraying the blankness of his face.

"Yeah, I didn't really expect that, you know, what with your whole 'no gun' thing and all, but I think…" his words trailed off as he seemed to register the growing anger on Kurt's face. "Whoops," he added more softly.

"What do you want, Finn?" Kurt demanded through clenched teeth.

"I'm sorry, okay? I told Blaine I'd be bad at this talking thing…"

Kurt heaved a great sigh and turned away again, his face falling into folded arms.

"Wait, don't… don't close off again, okay? It's really starting to freak me out, and Blaine too, and pretty much everyone. None of us really know what to do or say to each other right now, but what you're doing isn't cool. It's not going to help you, Kurt. Blaine needs you. We all need you," Finn's voice was airy from the cold, inching further towards desperate.

"I think I've done enough," Kurt retorted, his words harsh but muffled.

"Yeah? Well then maybe you should let someone do something for you."

Finn waited there beside him for several long moments, and still Kurt didn't move, didn't speak.

But he was awake now, and it _hurt._

Finally, Finn stood. "Just talk to Blaine, dude, _please_. For him, for yourself… for Santana. She lost her life and her soulmate. Are you really going to let your relationship rot away?"

Kurt didn't look up, but he knew the moment that Finn was gone as surely as he knew that somehow, he had to find the strength to move forward.

* * *

When he finally gathered the courage to seek Blaine out, Kurt found him sitting alone in the room they shared with Finn and Mike. He hadn't been back here since their return to the safehouse, instead sharing hazy days and nights with Brittany, the only company he could bear to keep.

For a moment he stood quietly in the doorway, observing his soulmate in a rare moment of inactivity. Blaine looked sad, worn… defeated.

It took Kurt a couple of tries to say his name, the word sticking in his throat, but finally it came out, weak and almost prayerful—"_Blaine._"

Blaine's dark head shot up immediately, shocked, red-rimmed eyes meeting his own. _"Kurt_," he breathed, and then he was on his feet, bounding across the room and pulling Kurt into his arms. Kurt clung to him, almost hyperventilating in his attempt to inhale Blaine's scent until he was back with Kurt and in him and through him, right where he belonged.

"I'm sorry," Kurt murmured into Blaine's neck when he could speak again.

Blaine only squeezed him tighter in response, eventually pulling back to cup Kurt's face and study him intently. "It's okay," he told Kurt soothingly. Then, "are you okay?"

His gaze was so intense, so concentrated, that Kurt couldn't help but close the short distance between them to kiss him. "I am now," he whispered against Blaine's lips.

"I don't believe you," the other man protested, but he was smiling, slight and sweet and perfect. "We need to talk, Kurt."

Kurt bit his bottom lip. Blaine was right, of course, but just now Kurt's body was positively humming with energy—it felt as if he was waking up after a long, deep sleep, and in a way Kurt supposed that he was. The last thing he wanted to do was return to the darker thoughts that had been plaguing him for the past few days.

"Okay," he said at last, then launched forward to take Blaine's mouth once more, "but later."

Blaine didn't argue this time, instead kissing back just as greedily. With a little trouble, Kurt walked them towards the bed, trying and failing to maneuver them onto the lower bunk without injury. Blaine hardly seemed to notice when he hit his head, but he did "oomph" when Kurt landed on top of him, and Kurt scrambled to shift his weight around to straddle the other man instead. Blaine looked so beautiful sprawled out beneath him that Kurt stopped and stared, sucking in a breath.

"Blaine," he nearly whined, swallowing thickly and looking up to catch his soulmate's eyes. "I want… can I…?"

"Anything, Kurt," Blaine conceded quietly, rubbing small circles into his lower back. "Just be here, please."

It broke Kurt's heart a little to hear Blaine's voice crack on his last words, and he nodded but didn't speak, bending down to kiss him again. One hand traced the sharp line of Blaine's shoulder, the other bearing his weight, and Kurt slowly followed the planes of Blaine's chest down to his stomach then tugged at his t-shirt, a clear indication that he wanted it off. Blaine nudged him aside to do so, and Kurt took the opportunity to pull his own shirt and hoody up and over his head.

Kurt pressed a hand against Blaine's warm skin, right over his heart. This time he could feel the heat radiating from his own eyes when they met Blaine's. "I really want you," Kurt voiced with more confidence than he felt. "This is not how I pictured this happening, but…"

"I don't care," Blaine interrupted him, gripping too-tight around Kurt's biceps. "_Source_, Kurt, I just want to feel you with me…"

Kurt leaned over to press their foreheads together, resting there for a moment and feeling their chests rise and fall in sync. "Okay," he finally said, "is our stuff here?"

"Under the bed," Blaine replied, and Kurt crawled over to search for it. "I can't believe you went _three days_ without your moisturizer routine, Kurt. That's got to be a first."

Kurt looked back over at him and grimaced. "That's how long, huh?"

Blaine nodded, and Kurt's face fell further.

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart. I haven't been myself, and there's still… a lot, but," he paused, rummaging around in the backpack he'd found and pulling out a bottle of lube. Kurt tossed it onto the bed before climbing back up and crowding against Blaine's side. "I won't do that again," he continued, pressing a kiss to Blaine's collarbone. "I promise."

Blaine's arms closed tight around Kurt and when he sighed, Kurt could feel his whole body heaving with it. "Please don't," he pleaded softly, prompting Kurt to lift his head and look at him. "Make it up to me?"

Kurt kissed him and nodded, feeling the full weight of his guilt over abandoning Blaine settle within him for the first time. It felt terrible, but at least this was a guilt he could try to assuage. Nuzzling his nose against Blaine's, Kurt set about raining gentle kisses on every inch of his face, each touch of his lips an apology. Finally, he came to Blaine's ear.

"I'm going to make love to you," he whispered, speaking as much to himself as to the man beneath him.

This time it was Blaine who turned to take his lips, and Kurt allowed himself to get lost in the feel and taste of his soulmate's mouth, their hips rocking slowly together until Kurt felt Blaine's hands at his waist, working open his pants, and moved to return the favor.

The press of naked skin against Kurt's own was a blessed jolt to his system, and he soon became frantic with it, their cocks rubbing fast and dry until Blaine's hands closed gently around his hips to steady them. Kurt looked down at him, taking in Blaine's soft smile and the love that lit his eyes, and he took a deep breath, willing his heartbeat to slow.

Blaine tugged at him and Kurt allowed his upper body drop a little—just enough to feel the gentle press of Blaine's chest against his own—and his forehead fell to rest against the pillow.

Kurt was calm enough to giggle when Blaine began playfully nosing at his neck… until Blaine said the last thing he expected.

"Please tell me you've at least bathed in the last few days."

He would have been insulted, but he caught the amused smirk on Blaine's face and knew that this was his attempt at grounding Kurt, calming him back into focus.

If only it was the simple thing that Blaine intended.

He shifted down to rest against his soulmate's shoulder, taking a few moments to gather his thoughts and attempt to organize the weight of them into a coherent sentence. "Yes, of course, I… I felt so dirty after that day and… well, I had trouble feeling clean again."

"Kurt…"

Blaine's hand was on his face, lifting and turning it gently, but it wasn't until Kurt felt Blaine's thumb swipe across his cheek that he realized he was crying. "Kurt, I…" Blaine began again, but Kurt shook his head, refusing to meet Blaine's eyes.

"Don't," he said, and kissed him. "Not now, right?"

"But Kurt…"

"Please, Blaine," Kurt forced himself to find and hold Blaine's gaze, desperate for understanding though the intensity was now nearly too much to bear.

Finally, Blaine nodded.

"Turn over?" Kurt requested. "Please?"

Blaine's hand crept up and wove through Kurt's hair, tugging his head down for one last long, soulful kiss before quietly doing as Kurt asked.

A mirror of his earlier movements, Kurt allowed himself time to take in the golden brown skin of Blaine's back, the occasional shift of muscle beneath it. He trailed his hands up and down its expanse, marveling at how the smoothness contrasted with the slight coarseness of Blaine's chest.

The Source truly knew what it was doing, Kurt thought. He couldn't have imagined a man more beautiful, more heartbreakingly perfect for him if he tried.

This time, Kurt leaned over and followed the path of his hands with his mouth, beginning at Blaine's neck. Slowly, he worked over Blaine's flesh with lips and tongue, finishing with a careful line down his spine and a dip of his tongue teasingly into Blaine's crack. The taste and softness there intrigued him, as did Blaine's nearly inaudible keen, but Kurt would leave that for later exploration.

Instead, he allowed his fingers to pick up where his mouth left off, and Blaine spread his legs without prompting in encouragement.

They'd had several weeks of sharing a bed now, and still this remained uncharted territory for no particular reason. Kurt wondered for the first time if Blaine liked to be touched here, if he had ever touched himself. It occurred to him suddenly that he could ask, and so he did.

"I've tried but… it's awkward, doing it to yourself. I think I'll like it under the right… mmmph…" Blaine broke off as Kurt slid a single lubed finger inside with little warning and wiggled against the press of it. "That's… a little uncomfortable but… good, yes…"

Kurt smiled even though Blaine couldn't see and kissed his shoulder, working his finger in and out and at different angles, paying close attention to the sounds Blaine was making. They were distinctive from those he made when topping and some were almost comical, but Kurt found them oddly endearing. Finally, Blaine moaned particularly loudly and mumbled "there," and then "more Kurt, _Source_," and Kurt obliged, happy to lose himself in the simple mechanisms of their bodies, their shared connection and pleasure.

At three fingers Blaine was still tight enough that Kurt was concerned, but when he awkwardly tried for a fourth, Blaine interrupted.

"Just do it, Kurt," he demanded, reaching behind himself to halt Kurt's hand, though he huffed in displeasure when Kurt withdrew. Kurt tugged him onto his side until he could see his face, and Blaine looked so utterly gone in a way he hadn't quite been before that Kurt couldn't help but kiss him, dirty and deep and loving.

"How do you want to do this?" he asked hoarsely when he pulled away, humping a little against Blaine's hip and ass because he couldn't stop himself, was hardly even aware.

Blaine hummed in response and shoved Kurt down a little until their hips aligned and Kurt's cock settled into his crack. Kurt inhaled sharply.

"Yeah, okay, I wouldn't think of that…" he pulled away reluctantly to lube up before curling around Blaine's back, fumbling for a moment to align himself correctly then weaving his arms around Blaine and pulling him impossibly closer and breathing into the back of his neck—"ready?"

Kurt lifted his head to watch Blaine's eyes squeeze shut and pressed a kiss to the edge of his jaw when Blaine nodded, squeezing tight where their hands were clutched together and resting against Blaine's chest.

He knew he should go slow—Blaine had been so tight around Kurt's fingers—but it was easier and so much better than he ever could have expected, and Kurt just sank and sank, drowning in Blaine's heat and barely audible whimpers until there was nowhere to go anymore.

And then suddenly, clarity. Three days lost within himself because he _couldn't_ live with himself, stumbling and hiding and scrambling to find a way out of the twisted mess of decisions he didn't understand how he could have made, and it was this easy. All Kurt had needed to do was to reach outside of himself and come home.

"_Blaine_," he said simply, desperately—a call into darkness and a prayer of thanksgiving.

Blaine seemed to understand, though. He flattened Kurt's hand against his skin and guided it once again to press over his heart, lingering there before moving it down to skim over his cock, arching up into Kurt's touch in offering. Kurt curled his fingers gladly over the hot, solid flesh as Blaine spoke—"_I'm right here_."

Kurt needed no further bidding to move, his pace steady and quick and sure but not rough, not this time. His hand stroked Blaine's cock in tandem with each thrust, and he mouthed eagerly at Blaine's neck and shoulder as he felt the sweat begin to slick between their bodies.

Blaine was crying out beautifully, shifting and writhing against him, but Kurt remained silent. It didn't take long, but neither man made any move to slow things down. When his climax hit Kurt surrendered to it fully, biting into Blaine's shoulder and losing himself in the now-familiar sensation of detachment—a moment apart from the world, his only tether of reality _Blaine, Blaine, Blaine_. He barely felt it when Blaine's come coated his fingers, but somehow Kurt was aware that his soulmate was there with him.

They stayed perfectly still as they came down, breathing together. Kurt's focus turned to the way that Blaine's body fit so rightly with his own, the way his ass still clenched weakly around Kurt's softening cock, the way he could feel the pulse pounding, then beating, then thrumming in Blaine's neck. Simple things. Wonderful things.

When reality came knocking again at his door, Kurt squeezed his eyes shut against it and his whole body tensed.

He felt Blaine shift out of his arms and then settle back in, a hand dragging down his face.

"_Kurt_," Blaine said, quiet and sad.

Kurt clutched him tighter and let Blaine kiss him and run his fingers over and over again through his hair, and he tried hard not to think.

* * *

Kurt stirred at the sound of a door opening and closing, a gasp and muffled voices sounding from the hallway that his fuzzy mind eventually placed as Finn and Mike. He blinked his eyes open and looked down.

Blaine was sprawled on his stomach, still fast asleep with his face turned towards Kurt and one hand cupped around Kurt's torso, while Kurt was pressed against his side with his arm and leg flung over Blaine's back and buttocks, respectively. They were both stark naked. Finn and Mike had gotten quite the eyeful.

In a misplaced moment of empathy Kurt tried to imagine how agonizing it would be to walk in on his stepbrother similarly indisposed and nearly swore aloud as he frantically tried to push the image from his mind. Then his brain unhelpfully supplied that this scenario would likely involve boobs or, more specifically, Rachel's boobs, and he really did curse.

Blaine startled awake, his hand tightening almost painfully around Kurt's ribcage.

"Hey," Kurt said softly when he'd opened his eyes.

Blaine smiled. "Hey."

Silence lingered too long as they stared at each other in a way that should have been awkward but wasn't somehow, and then they were kissing softly. Kurt sighed when they pulled away and wiggled further down the bed to nestle his head in the crook of Blaine's shoulder, Blaine's arm coming around him with the ease of familiarity.

"I'm not ready to talk," he whispered. "I know we have to, but—what is there to say?"

Blaine didn't answer right away, but Kurt knew it was because he was thinking. "I guess what I need to know is… why?"

"That's the hardest question…"

"I know."

"I… that day," Kurt began slowly, "it wasn't pre-meditated. Everything was fine and suddenly there was a body on the floor and bullets flying everywhere and I saw one almost hit you, and I happened to somehow look in just the right place and you were looking in the wrong one and… there was the gun, and I didn't think I just grabbed it and…" his rambling cut off with a choked sob, and Blaine squeezed him tighter. "Santana's dead," Kurt said weakly.

"I know, baby," Blaine told him and kissed his forehead. "It's sad and horrible, but… that's not why, Kurt."

And then Kurt lost it, his body beginning to shake and his breath speeding and hitching, though oddly no tears fell from his eyes. He buried his face into Blaine's skin and tried to stop it, Blaine holding him and kissing him and shushing him like a child.

"I can't believe I did it," he confessed when he was able to push the words out. "I _killed_ someone, Blaine, I…"

To Kurt's surprise, Blaine didn't protest, didn't try to plead Kurt's innocence. Instead he smoothed the hair back from Kurt's face and echoed his earlier words—"I know."

"And after all that… I know what I put you through and it's like I threw it all out the window without a second thought, and what does that make me? _Who am I_, Blaine?" For the first time he looked up, daring to meet Blaine's eyes because he felt achingly empty and desperate, so desperate for an answer.

"It makes you human," Blaine told him, his gaze loving and even and sincere. "You're mine, Kurt. You're you."

Kurt shook his head, but when Blaine pulled him in for a kiss he allowed it, clinging to the comfort and warmth and assurance of his soulmate's mouth. When the kiss broke, he dropped back into Blaine's arms.

"I wish this was easy," he said. "I wish I didn't care. That man was a horrible person. I wish I didn't care."

It was Blaine's turn to shake his head, and Kurt shifted again to look up at him when he sighed. "If you didn't care, Kurt, _then _you wouldn't be you. It's the caring that matters."

They fell silent once more, and Kurt felt himself growing drowsy again. He had the foresight to reach down for the blankets and cover them. "I think Finn and Mike saw us naked…" he mumbled just as he drifted off.

Kurt felt Blaine laugh but failed to hear his reply.

* * *

When they woke again Mike was standing across the room dressed sharply, straightening his tie in the mirror. Kurt felt himself flush when Mike glanced over at them, his smile bittersweet. "Good morning," he offered. "I'm just about finished here; I told Finn I'd take him his clothes—he didn't want to brave the room."

Kurt muttered an apology, but Blaine spoke over him. "It's the memorial service this morning," he explained. "We wanted to wait and see if Santana's parents… well, we got word yesterday that they want nothing to do with it."

Mike was shuffling out of the room, and Kurt managed a forced smile in his direction before turning his attention to Blaine. "I… hadn't thought of that."

Blaine shrugged. "Do you feel up to it? Everyone will understand if you don't go."

"I don't," Kurt replied honestly. "But I need to be there."

Blaine smiled and took his hand. "I'll be right there with you."

"I know," Kurt told him, squeezing the fingers in his.

* * *

The service was held in the back yard, short and solemn to match the bitter weather. Santana wouldn't have wanted it that way, Kurt knew, but it didn't seem like anyone in the house could manage anything else. Brittany cried, and when she found her way into his arms, soaking his expensive silk dress shirt, Kurt couldn't help but cry too. The gloom around him was creeping under his skin, and for the first time he could feel the grief of his loss at full force, breaking free from the numb shock and guilt he'd been wallowing in for days. The only other emotion he managed was relief—Henry was there in attendance, looking a little pale and with one shoulder heavily bandaged, his arm in a sling. But he was alive.

He was surprised to note the sheer number of people in attendance. Scanning across the sea of faces, Kurt counted very few as missing. Those of the resistance that had refused to align with Santana had apparently stuck around anyway and had enough respect to attend.

Blaine, as promised, remained at his side throughout. When it was over Kurt turned to him, feeling a little lost and hopeless, and finally asked the question that had most been plaguing him.

"What happens now?"

Before Blaine could respond, Wes approached, unaware of the moment he was interrupting. "There's a meeting tomorrow," he told them. "I know it seems too soon, but we need to regroup and figure out our next step. I never met her, but from what I hear Santana wouldn't want us to stop fighting."

Blaine nodded, but Kurt stood frozen, unable to fully process the words. "We'll be there," Blaine assured him, and Kurt tried to smile. When Wes had gone, Blaine turned Kurt to face him.

"Hey, are you okay?"

Kurt searched feebly for an honest answer. "I want to be," he finally decided.

"We don't have to go tomorrow. I can tell Wes that it's too soon, he'll understand…"

"No," Kurt interrupted. "I want to go. Wes is right; it's what she would do."

Blaine's hand closed on his arm. "That doesn't mean that it's right for you, right for us."

Kurt noticed Finn out of the corner of his eye, currently caught in a conversation with Mercedes but watching them with clear intent. His breath hitched. "Can we go back to our room, Blaine? Please?"

"Of course," Blaine agreed easily, his worried eyes never leaving Kurt's.

They ducked out of the gathering quietly, Kurt avoiding eye contact but noticing that Blaine exchanged rather pointed glances with a few of their curious friends. When they got to their room they undressed without speaking. Blaine dug some pajamas out of their bag, and once clothed again they cuddled together on the bed.

"Is it terrible that this is the only thing I really want to do?" Kurt finally asked.

"No, Kurt. However you need to be right now is fine. I'm certainly not going to protest."

Kurt huffed. "It's just… I feel so useless. Why can't I get over this? There's so much to do, so much need to move forward, and I just… can't."

It took Blaine a moment to answer, and perhaps Kurt should expect by now that Blaine's responses would almost always surprise him.

"Do you ever remember that you didn't choose this?" he asked.

Kurt was taken aback. "Of course I did. What are you talking about?"

Blaine shook his head. "No, Kurt. You came here to find me, and you have. The rest of it you just sort of… fell into. You're under no obligation to help these people."

"But I believe in this cause!" Kurt protested, shifting to look at his soulmate. "It's important, important to us and for us. Santana just died for it! You had to leave the country because of the prejudice here, and I had to hide… we might never have found each other, Blaine!" He winced as he spoke the words.

"I know all of that," Blaine said calmly. "None of it changes the fact that this is not what you signed up for."

"You did," Kurt argued stubbornly, but his rebellious mind was already wandering, picturing the room they would share at his dad and Carole's house, the little home they could eventually build together, walking down a crowded street hand in hand, _performing_.

"I did," Blaine agreed, "and I still believe in the necessity of helping the resistance. But I have you now; I have more of a reason to live. I've already given a lot, and so have you. There are safer ways to help."

"We can't just abandon…"

"Kurt," Blaine said, his voice tender, his hand on Kurt's face. "Let it go. It's okay to want something more for ourselves. We're allowed to rest, and I think that's what you need."

Kurt felt his eyes filling with tears and frantically tried to blink them away. "I want it," he confessed. "I know it's not right, we should stay and help, but…"

"Shhh. We'll have it, Kurt. It's okay."

Kurt nodded and kissed him, finally allowing some of the burden he'd been carrying for so long to slip away.

"I'm exhausted," he admitted when they parted. "I know that doesn't make any sense; it's the middle of the day."

Blaine smiled at him warmly. "Nap, then. There's nothing to stop you."

Kurt smiled back, feeling the first tendrils of happiness well up within him. There was still a lot to discuss, and the others to contend with—whatever choice they'd made, Kurt would never abandon the resistance completely. They would find a way to be useful.

He curled around his soulmate in the dim room and tried to relax, allowing his mind to wander through an endless litany of troubles and hopes and possibilities.

"Blaine," Kurt's voice was soft, tentative. "Blaine, when I killed that man… it was the right thing to do."

"It was," Blaine conceded.

"I still hate it."

Blaine pulled him closer, and Kurt allowed himself—and his conscience—to rest.

* * *

The meeting the next evening was a long and futile one. The resistance was scrambling to regroup and come up with another political candidate to put forward, but just as before Santana, none of the few politicians with their sympathies was powerful enough, and it was unlikely any would be willing to step up to the plate given the confirmed danger such a position posed. Retreating to The Olde World was not an option now that their existence had been so garishly revealed to the public. They needed to stay, despite the risk, seek out what support must be out there, and carefully draw more citizens into their ranks. Only then would they be powerful enough to make any real waves in the government.

It was a long road ahead, but the journey had begun.

When the gathering had concluded, Blaine and Kurt pulled Wes aside.

"Wes," Blaine addressed his old friend, hand firmly ensconced in Kurt's. "Kurt and I have decided that it's best for us to return to The Olde World for the time being."

Wes's eyes met Blaine's, then Kurt's in turn. Kurt looked away. "I see," he said evenly.

"I'm sorry," Kurt told him softly. "We just… need some time. It's been a lot. We still want to help!"

Wes nodded politely and excused himself, and Kurt felt tears of guilt threatening. Blaine's hand tightened in his.

They made their way around the room.

Mike was impossible to read. "Give Tina my love," he told them. "I imagine I'll be here for a while, and it won't be easy for her."

They assured him that they would, and Mike and Blaine hugged—a rare display of affection between the two friends. "Take care of him, Kurt," Mike added, and Kurt smiled gratefully and promised that he would.

Mercedes was the most sympathetic. "Take all the time you need, Boo," she cautioned him. "And give that brother of mine a shout-out; it's been far too long since I've seen him."

This time, it was Blaine who was ordered to look out for Kurt, Mercedes personal style a bit more threatening—"you better watch out for my boy or believe you me, I'll find a way to bring the full wrath of the Source down on your white-boy ass!" Her words were softened by a hug that took Blaine completely by surprise, and Kurt actually laughed as Blaine's eyes widened and he patted Mercedes' back awkwardly.

David was honest but kind. "I don't understand how you can do this, Blaine—it's not like you, not like the boy I grew up with. But I trust that you know where your priorities lie." He shot Kurt a glance, not unkind, and slapped Blaine on the back. "Take care of yourselves, alright? Maybe come back someday when you're feeling up to it."

Blaine smiled and thanked him, but Kurt could tell that the words had stung.

Finn took the news with his typical ease. "Good for you, bro; you could use some down time with everything that's happened. Plus, it's not really safe here for you guys. Ummm… do you think you could tell Rachel I'm needed here for a while, but I'll try to be home in a few months? And be convincing, alright? I'd like to keep my balls intact when I get back… oh, and give my mom a hug for me…"

Kurt flung his arms around his brother, halting his ramblings. "Thank you, Finn. I'm going to miss you."

"Yeah, me too, dude," Finn smiled and hugged him back, offering his fist for Blaine to bump over Kurt's shoulder.

To Kurt's surprise, Brittany had no interest in going with them. "My grandmother won't be happy, and Sam will worry, but… I can't explain it, but somehow I feel drawn here? Maybe it's because it's where San—where she died. I just know I have to stay." Brittany's face was red and puffy, but to Kurt she still looked beautiful.

"Please be safe," he begged her, worried for his tender-hearted friend. "Stay with the others?"

Brittany nodded frantically, clinging to his arm. "The trees will take care of me," she told him confidently.

Kurt really hoped that she was right.

Hearts heavy and eager for rest, Kurt and Blaine prepared to leave The New World behind once more.

* * *

A few days later, the soulmates approached the barrier for the second time, again hand in hand.

This time they made it home.


End file.
